


Brother's Comfort

by vidaleeleeluv (Vidaleeleeluv)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Blackmail, Complete, Drugged Sex, Flashbacks, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vidaleeleeluv/pseuds/vidaleeleeluv
Summary: Michael will do anything for Lincoln's happiness...regardless of his consent. But when T-bag catches him in the act, Michael must make a trade: his body for T-bag's silence.





	1. Back Then

**17 years ago...**

"Linc?"

Michael peered into the doorway, awaiting his big brother’s response. It wasn’t often that the 16 year old was actually home so when he was, Michael made a point to see him. Typically Linc was out hustling, trying to put food on the table or screwing random chicks. Michael had never cared for any of them except Veronica from next door. But she was gone away now just like every other woman in their life.

As he peeked inside, Michael was pleased to find that yes his brother was home. Lying in bed, shirtless in the summer heat Lincoln stared up at the ceiling.

"Fancy meeting you here," Michael joked as he plopped down beside him.

When his brother didn’t respond an eerie feeling ran through him. Something wasn’t right. He took a closer look and noticed the glazed look in Lincoln’s eyes. Familiarity hit. He was high again.

"Oh Linc."

Usually it was pot, sometimes strange pills he bought off weirdos. Enough to make him too reckless, too giddy but on occasion he took something big.

"To take the edge off," Linc had explained once and maybe for the small stuff that was true.

But Michael wasn’t a little kid anymore and with age came sharper perception. Lincoln only graduated to the heavy stuff when things got to be too much.

"What did you take?"

His brother blinked at him, not quite seeing him through his high. Annoyed, Michael climbed onto him, and began going through his pockets for clues. He found his answer in an empty plastic wrap bag about the size of an eraser. Pills. Heavy ones.

_It’ll burn off, they always do._

But that didn’t stop his heart from pounding with fear every time his brother ingested them. All it took was one time—one bad trip and he’d lose the only one in the world he had left. Their dad had walked out before he could remember, their mom had died young. They’d bounced from foster home to foster home (sometimes Linc to juvie) before his brother had acquired their rundown apartment (off the books of course.) Technically they were still wards of the state but their current foster mom didn’t give a shit as long as her checks came.

Linc had managed to get a place big enough for the both of them and by either some miracle or a complete lack of competence the state hadn’t caught on. As long as Mike continued to do well in school and show signs of being a healthy boy, they were set. So he kept his grades up and did his best not to rock the boat.

"What was it this time?"

Lincoln wasn’t big on words or expressing emotion. He was social enough but he had a habit of keeping people at arm’s length. He never let anyone get close and he never discussed what he was feeling. It was why, though Michael hated the drugs, he understood the reasoning behind taking them. Lincoln needed release. Comfort.

He propped himself up on the bed beside his brother.

"I wish you would talk to me."

Lincoln snorted, catching him by surprise. He watched his big brother roll over to his side and slur something incomprehensible. Then he caressed the rough sheet with his cheek and laughed again.

"Very funny," Michael murmured sarcastically.

It wouldn’t be so much when the high wore off and life was still just as hard as it had been before he’d taken those pills. Then where would he be?

"Why Linc? Why can’t you just open up to me?"

He spent the night in Lincoln’s bed, watching over him for signs of overdose or illness. By morning he’d barely had any sleep save the couple of hours off and on. He also had the dilemma of whether to keep watch or go to school. Remembering the image to social services, Michael opted for school. He couldn’t afford to be discovered. If they took him from Linc he’d die.

He went through the motions in class, raised his hand to answer at appropriate times, smiled and nodded when spoken to. He knew how to keep up appearances. Still, he wasn’t sure if he could spend an entire eight hour day away from his ailing brother. He made it to lunch before faking ill and heading home. On the walk back his concern grew. What if Linc had vomited in his sleep and choked on it? His gait switched into a trot and by the time he was near the apartment, a full sprint.

Before he reached the door, he heard a moan from inside. Linc’s voice. He knew it from anyone’s. Panic gripped him as visions of his brother’s discomfort played through his mind. What if Linc had fallen? Maybe he’d gotten a bad batch of pills. He could be drowning in his own blood right now. Michael couldn’t grasp his keys fast enough as he flew through the door and straight to Linc’s bedroom.

When he rounded the doorway, however the sight before him brought him to a halt. Lincoln was definitely groaning but it wasn’t because of an ailment.

It was because of the blond bitch on her knees in front of him.

Michael recognized her cheap dye job from days before. Lisa Rix. The latest of Linc’s conquests. Disgusted, Mike started to turn and leave. Then Lincoln made a strange noise and curiosity drew him. He watched his brother, completely uncensored. Linc’s body was tensing up with pleasure but it was his facial expression that caught Michael. Pure bliss, not drug induced or alcohol fueled but pure and carnal bliss. From a natural source.

He’d never seen anything have such an effect on Linc.

Like the explorer in the wilderness, Mike stood back and observed, thoroughly fascinated. He’d always been attentive to details and of course the details of his brother were no exception. He’d memorized every tick and turn of Lincoln’s personality before Linc had even understood that he had one. Every gesture, every twitch he could tell when Linc was getting antsy or telling a lie. He could tell when he was feeling down. This was a new observation to add to the collection.

He watched as Lincoln grunted out loud, his hand pushing Lisa’s head down in his groin area. Mike didn’t look at that, he wasn’t some kind of pervert he told himself. But when Linc got louder and hissed "Yea, just like that" he had to see what "that" was. He found Lisa’s lips devouring a very hard, very slick cock. Lincoln’s very hard, very slick cock. Another part of his brother he’d yet to file in his directory. Michael watched the way her mouth moved, the way her throat swelled, definitely deep-throating the engorged flesh. He watched her actions, Linc’s reactions to those actions. Then—

"Oh fuuuuuck!"

Linc jutted his hips forward, his hand smashing her face into him as he pumped frantically. This was an orgasm, Mike knew and again he noted that he’d never seen this aspect of his brother. He let his eyes travel from Linc’s body again to his facial mannerisms as he milked his climax. From his wide open mouth to the way he squenched his eyes completely shut as his head tilted backward on the bed. Then afterward, the way his body just collapsed. Relaxed.

Now that it was over, Michael crept back to his bedroom where he shut the door behind him. He sat down at his second-hand desk, processing the new information he’d acquired. Today he’d seen a different side of Lincoln. A side he was sure his brother would never willingly show him. And it was invigorating.

His mind was working a mile a minute, filing and recollecting all of the new information. Michael loved to learn things.  
He kicked off his shoes and began to change out of his school khakis when he noticed the tent at the front of his pants. He stared down at it, almost as if it were a foreign object. His dick was hard. At this age he wasn’t new to erections. Well he was almost thirteen. And he had just seen live porn. Any guy would react the same way. He dismissed it as basic biology and continued on with his day.

When Lisa Rix left, he found Lincoln lounging in bed completely chill. Michael noted his posture, the contentment on his face.

"Hey Mikey, how was school?"

He sat by his big brother. By now it was late enough for school to be over so he decided not to mention his early departure.

"It was okay. You know, it’s school."

Linc reached over to his right to find a loose cigarette. He glanced over at Michael, seemed to think better of it. He knew how much Mike hated the smell.

"Hey, what do you want for dinner tonight? Your choice."

Michael shrugged.

"I don’t know."

"How about Pedro’s. We haven’t had them in a minute."

It was Michael’s favorite Mexican spot. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face.

"Yea?"

He liked his brother like this. Not stressing or cursing or high.

"Sure, why not?"

That evening Michael made the connection for certain. Oral sex made Linc a much friendlier housemate. He was more accommodating, more easygoing, he was happier. Mike was sure to file that into his information bank as well. Undoubtedly it would come in handy.

It wasn’t long after that it did.

Michael was up one night studying when he heard Linc come home in a huff. He could tell before meeting him by the slam of the front door, the angry stomps through the kitchen. Lincoln cursed after grabbing a bottle from the fridge and slamming that door too.

"Linc?"

He didn’t look his way.

"Go to bed, Mike."

The older teen took a swig from the bottle. Drinking. He was upset. Michael registered the tension in his shoulders, the tight furrow of his brow. The slight way his hand shook around the neck of the bottle. This wasn’t just anger alone.

"Linc what’s wrong?"

"Goddammit Michael I said go to bed!"

His brother was spiraling again. He knew the routine. On the occasion that their hard-knock life was too much for his 16 year old brain he’d find some alcohol, pop some pills and spend the next few days in a drug induced stupor. It had happened twice before. Mike was worried it was becoming a pattern. Even worse, he feared that pattern might eventually escalate to a harder drug. He couldn’t bare the thought of Lincoln on meth or heroin.

He would have to devise a plan to bring Linc out of these moments. To relax him.

It was later that night when he checked in on him. Sure enough, he found his big brother spacing out on the bed. He was now in his boxers having stripped for sleep before his trip. Michael walked over to him, studied his dilated pupils. Linc barely registered his presence. Good. That meant he wouldn’t stop him.

Focused, Mike crawled onto the bed, pushed his brother’s legs apart. He thought of Lisa Rix and how he’d seen her handle him. How calm Linc had been afterward. How happy. He was doing this for him.

Carefully he reached into Lincoln’s boxers, touched the warm flesh of his big brother’s cock. He’d never touched another guy’s junk before. For a moment he took in the new sensation. It was still soft, in a flaccid state. Even through the opening he could see dark pubic hair surrounding it. He decided it would be better to remove his boxers entirely.  
Linc offered little resistance. He just blinked and uttered something incoherent.

Once his brother was naked, Michael surveyed the image. He was already bigger than him, his body forming muscle that Mike in his preteen state could only dream about. But Linc practically lived shirtless at home so that was nothing new. His lower region, however was uncharted territory. Michael noted the dark, black line that formed below Lincoln’s belly button, the way it lead down to a patch of hair surrounding his sleeping cock.

Again this wasn’t completely new, he’d seen Linc whip it out and piss on numerous occasions but that had always been just a glimpse and never the whole shebang. Now it was ALL in his face, balls and everything. Fascinated, he studied the sight. It wasn’t until Linc mumbled something and tried to turn to his side that Michael came back. He pushed his brother back down then took him into one hand.

Should he jerk him first? Probably. That was what they did in pornos. He began stroking Lincoln’s cock.  
His brother’s low moan startled him and he jumped. His eyes shot upward and he was relieved to see that Linc was still out of it. He had no idea what was going on. It was for the best. Mike went back to stroking and was satisfied when Linc’s cock hardened in his hands. He could feel the heat radiating beneath his fingers. This was the part where the girl would lick the guy’s shaft. He leaned forward and let his wet tongue glide across the head. Linc moaned instantly. A clear bead of moisture seeped from the slit of his cock. Michael’s eyes widened in fascination. He repeated the movement and achieved the same result. Interesting. He continued with the licking, going up and down his brother’s shaft with lips and tongue. He didn’t know why he was kissing with his licks, only that Lincoln seemed to really like it.

Then Linc’s pelvis began to move and Mike realized it was go time.

_Forgive me, Linc but you need this._

He’d practiced on bananas and various long foods since deciding to give him the Lisa Rix treatment—even pressure points in the hand to prevent gagging. He wanted to be thorough. Despite his preparation, Michael wasn’t ready for the wave of heat that flooded him when he took his brother’s rock hard cock into his mouth. Lincoln groaned out loud.

"Mmm."

Mike swallowed him whole, just as he’d done the banana and bobbed back up. Linc wasn’t curved like the fruit nor was he as soft. He was full on cucumber now, straight and hard and mouth-filling. He could probably put someone’s eye out with that thing. Mike closed his lips around it, inhaling Linc’s scent as his nose bounced off his pubes. He’d showered that morning but by now the day’s sweat and heavy jeans coated him. He no longer smelled like bargain soap. He smelled like pure unadulterated Lincoln. Michael was too focused on his task to process how that made him feel.

Linc was quickly becoming very vocal. Though he couldn’t form words, he was groaning and breathing and moaning all over the place. Completely uninhibited by the drugs, he didn’t care about modesty. There was no such thing as pride. He began to buck under his little brother, completely owned by the sensation he was receiving.  
Mike rather liked this shift in the power dynamic in their relationship.

Feeling heady himself, Michael sped up his sucking, giving Linc something more to exclaim about. His head fell back and he desperately pumped up into his brother’s mouth. Mike tried to push his hips back down but Linc was stronger and the force of his thrusts overpowered him. If he didn’t stop soon Linc was going to cum. Michael wasn’t sure why but he didn’t want it to end just yet.

He lifted off, replacing his mouth with his hand. Linc released a cross between a whine and a grunt, his naked hips jutting just the same. Mike clasped Linc’s spit soaked cock and caught his breath as he watched his brother’s movements. He found himself mesmerized. This was a lesson in human behavior that the books couldn’t teach.  
Just when he was sure Lincoln would burst, Michael slowed things down. He let his hand trail away from his brother’s raging erection to glide up his abdomen. Linc objected but the drug had him so far gone he couldn’t voice it. He panted, rolled his head around but could do little else. Mike let him settle, never losing contact with his hot skin. When he was convinced that he’d calmed him somewhat, Michael took his brother’s cock once more.

"Huuuuuuuuuuuuuh!"

He ignored the shiver Linc’s cry sent through him, the confirmation that yes he, Michael was the one in charge here. He had the control. To exercise the point he cupped his brother’s balls and fondled them, same as he’d done his own plenty of times. It had the desired effect and Lincoln went into a frenzy. Michael toyed with him a bit before straight deep throating his brother once again.

Linc’s cries shook the walls. Mike felt his brother tensing up for climax. This was the part he couldn’t much prepare for. Alone in his room he’d attempted to learn what cum would taste like.  
After a solo session of grab the snake he’d licked his own hand, even swallowed some of his own semen but somehow he knew that it would be different with Lincoln. Everything was different with Lincoln.  
He felt his brother’s cock pulsing in his mouth as suddenly hot spunk shot straight down his throat. For a second Mike almost panicked for fear of choking on the heavy stream but then he regained himself and swallowed it down.  
Load after load, his brother shot, groaning his delirium out as he came.

"Hmmmmm!"  
Michael took it all, a sense of high filling him with every gulp. He’d made his brother very happy tonight.

Take that Lisa Rix.

After Linc was finished, Mike gave a few extra sucks for good measure. Linc gave another cry, his prick over-sensitive at this point. Michael showed mercy and released his brother’s spent cock to fall back against him with a slap. Linc uttered some unintelligible noise, still breathing hard.

Michael sat up then, surveyed his brother one more time. His big brother, the one person in the whole world that actually gave a damn about him. He cared for him, provided him with food, shelter, protection. Love. Lincoln did so much for him. All at his own expense. While he encouraged Mike to finish school, Linc had dropped out to make money for them. While he encouraged Mike to stay on the straight and narrow Linc was involved in petty crimes, thefts, burglaries. He was sacrificing so much for him. The least Michael could do was make him feel good once in a while. Help him clear his head.  
But how often was once in a while?

He pulled Lincoln’s boxers back on, taking one last mental photograph of everything that was his brother. This wouldn’t be the last time, he was sure. Lincoln was strong but he was human. There would be more meltdowns, more drugs thus more opportunities to provide comfort. He’d be there to provide it. All he wanted was for Lincoln to be happy.

 


	2. Present Time

**Present time…**

"Scofield? Yo Scofield!"

Michael snapped out of his reminiscence to find T-bag and Sucre staring anxiously at him across the small table of the abandoned apartment.

"What are you going to do about that brother of yours?" T-bag hissed.

"He’s going to get us all caught!"

Sucre scrunched his brows nervously.

"T-bag’s right, man. I mean I understand he’s worried about his kid but he ain’t doing him any good if he goes back to prison."

"No, he’ll go back to the chair," T-bag corrected, "be dead in a week while the rest of us rot for the next twenty to life."

Michael looked at them, annoyed that they’d interrupted his thoughts and defensive of his brother at the same time.

"Let me worry about Linc. You just keep your faces out of sight and this will all be over soon."

Neither party looked convinced but they left him alone. Tension was thick enough for the fugitives after hearing of the death of John Abruzzi, C-Note, Tweener and Haywire. They were the only remaining members of the Fox River 8.

To add to that, this FBI guy had been too close on their trail, like he knew the intricacies of Mike’s plan. Now he had LJ, Lincoln’s only son in his custody. Their every attempt to break him out had been derailed. Like FBI guy saw it coming. Linc was losing it.  
As if they’d talked him up, Lincoln returned from his "outing" with his jaws clenched, carrying a town map.

"Where the hell have you been?" T-bag demanded. "You trying to get spotted?"

Lincoln turned to him with a look Michael recognized as his "I’m going to beat the shit out of you if you even breathe at me" look and quickly intervened.

"A map should be good. It’s always helpful to know our surroundings."

His brother turned to him.

"There’s a gun shop. We need in so we can arm ourselves."

Sucre leaped out of his seat at that.

"Guns? _No no no quiero estar involucrado!_ "

Linc gave him a look of exasperation.

"What the fuck did you say?"

"Now you’re talking," T-bag was grinning.

"Nothing wrong with a little self-defense."

The last thing they needed was a gun in _his_ hand. Michael kept his expression neutral, unreadable.

"What’s on your mind, Linc?"

This wasn’t just about guns.

"I’m breaking LJ out of that hell hole. Going to need guns to do it."

He looked his younger brother square in the eye, daring him to challenge him. Michael knew that now was not the time.

"You want to what?!" Sucre exclaimed.

" _Esto es Loco! Oh, Dios mío, vamos a morir porque este hombre ha perdido la cabeza! No quiero ninguna parte de esto!_ "

T-bag didn’t address the big man. He went straight for the logical one.

"You see? Madness! Handle this, Pretty."

He turned in frustration and left the room. Sucre stood for a moment, his brown eyes pleading with Michael fix it. He had a woman to get back to. A life waiting for him. Michael let his face remain a stonewall, and Sucre left as well.

"You’re not going to talk me out of it," Linc warned him.

"Don’t even try."

Michael nodded in resignation.

"I know. Just, let me come up with a plan. Right here, right now."

Lincoln considered it.

"Okay."

Michael gestured for him to sit down.

"I’ll grab a couple of waters. This may take a while."

His brother nodded, laying the map out across the table. Michael made toward the kitchen before at the last second dipping into his and Linc’s shared bedroom. The apartment only had 2 rooms and with 4 men the brothers had doubled up. It wasn’t much different than when they’d been kids. Besides they’d all just gotten out of prison. And Sucre was not T-bag’s type.  
Mike dug into his bag to find a little something he’d picked up from the infirmary during the escape. Insurance, just in case someone got too far out of line. He took two pills from the bottle and slipped into the kitchen. He’d just dropped them into Lincoln’s bottle when he caught someone behind him.

Michael whirled around to find T-bag watching him.

"Something I can help you with, Theodore?"

T-bag didn’t answer at first but the lecherous glint in his eye said enough.

"Oh there’s a lot you can help me with, Pretty. But for now I need to know you and your brother aren’t going to expose our whereabouts with this jailbreak of yours."

He rolled his tongue in that way that made Michael’s skin crawl.

"Like I said, don’t worry about Linc. Just keep your own face out of the papers."

He pushed past him, shaking the bottle up to ensure that the pills dissolved faster. When he reached Linc again he handed him the bottle. His brother accepted with full trust and chugged it down almost instantly.

"Okay, let’s get started."

He sent T-bag and Sucre out for supplies. Not a major run but they should be gone for at least an hour. That was plenty of time. He had gotten much more adept at taking care of Lincoln over the years. Gone was the hesitation, the fear that he would come out of the daze and catch him. The drugs were better, more precise, the amount perfectly measured. No overdosing would happen under Mike’s watch. He had become a pro.  
It had been quite a while since the last time. Even still he was able to slip back into the groove of things like an old, familiar glove. Oddly the service he performed brought him comfort as well. To ease his brother’s mind, to bring him release was rewarding.

He knew that Lincoln would never approve if he knew. That he would see it as wrong, not understand. But Michael knew his true motives were good, all he’d ever wanted was to help his brother so he could bypass some silly taboo about brothers and men. All that mattered was Lincoln.

 

* * *

 

Sucre glanced down at the list that Michael had given them. It seemed simple enough. The evening was coming on and there wasn’t much foot traffic so he was pretty confident in their incognito skills. Nobody would pay attention to two normal looking guys like them. The hardest part about this mission would be completing it with T-bag. His associate seemed to share the same sentiment.

"We should split up."

Sucre raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What?"

"The two of us together looks more like a Fox River 8 poster. Not to mention it takes more time," T-bag elaborated.

"If we split up we get what we need in half the time. We can meet up at the place when we’re done."

It sounded reasonable enough.

"Okay, but if you’re up to something--”

T-bag raised his hands in an innocence gesture.

"Hey I’m just as hemmed up as you. I can’t go nowhere without the college boy either."

True. Without Michael they were just flapping in the breeze. It was his plan, whatever it was, that guaranteed the continuance of their freedom. T-bag wouldn’t dare screw that up. So he went along with it, and said a prayer that the rat wouldn’t find a way to screw them over.

"That was simple enough."

T-bag took his half of the list and headed off. Once he was sure that he’d shaken the beaner, he doubled back to the apartment. Scofield was up to something, he was sure.

 

* * *

 

"Linc, are you alright?"

His brother blinked a few times, the drug taking action. Michael watched him, gauging when to move. This was the trickiest part.

Too soon and Linc might remember.

"I...um..."

He blinked again.

"You should lie down," Michael suggested.

"Come on."

Lincoln let him help him to his feet and followed complacently as Mike led him to the bedroom.

"Here, you’re burning up. Why don’t you let me help you out of your clothes?"

Again he complied, his eyes growing vacant and confused. Michael undressed him carefully, folded his clothes in the chair beside the bed. When he got to his boxers he paused, tested his brother.

"Do you mind?"

Lincoln just stared at him, not comprehending his words. That was the answer Mike was looking for. He slid Linc’s boxers down to his ankles before nudging him backward onto the bed. Then he pulled them from his feet and set them atop his clothes. Michael looked over his brother’s bare naked body for the first time in years.

"You’re absolute perfection, Linc."

He was still bigger than Mike, only now with more solid, defined muscle. A few more scars as well. Michael took the time to examine each new scar and commit it to memory. He traced them with his fingers, kissed them with his lips. Once again he’d know every inch of Lincoln’s body. Every last detail.

Now to see if he tasted the same.

 

* * *

 

T-bag knew not to go to through door. Scofield would hear and instantly be on alert so instead he climbed through the thick back hedges to a window. He peered inside to see nothing but black curtains. Damn. Which room was that again? Not to be deterred, he fidgeted with the paneling a bit until it slid right open. Old structure, first floor, this was a recipe for burglary. Lucky for them no one would attempt to rob a vacated building.

Once inside he recognized his and Sucre’s room. Quietly he padded through. All he needed was to make one sound and Scofield would catch it. The sly bastard. He was entering the hallway when he heard the moan.  
There was no mistaking the nature, he had enough experience in the sexual realm to know a moan of pleasure.

"Well I’ll be."

He began to chuckle to himself. So Scofield had wriggled up a lady of the night for his brother. It was obviously Burrows getting it by the gruffness of the voice. Scofield’s was more like warm butter.

He wondered how Scofield would moan in bed.

Feeling voyeuristic, T-bag made his way down the hall to the room where Lincoln was getting his jollies. He paused outside the door, debating whether or not to try to crack it. It didn’t sound like ape would notice a van blowing through let alone little ol’ him pushing a mere door. Still he had to be cautious. And he had to be on the lookout for Pretty.  
Tentatively, he turned the knob and gave a light push. With the opening he could now hear the wet slurps guilty of causing the ruckus. Oh yeah this bitch was going to town on Burrows. T-bag felt his cock twitch in arousal as he cracked the door a little more. He couldn’t wait to see—

_Good God Almighty!_

The whore sucking Scofield’s brother off was... _Scofield_?!?! He nearly came in his pants at the sight. Pretty college boy on his knees at the end of the bed, his shaved head bobbing up and down between his big brother’s legs. His shirt was gone, exposing that taut, tattooed torso that T-bag had dreamed of touching from the moment he’d seen him.

Because of the angle of the bed, he could only see the back of his Pretty but the large mirror beside the dresser provided the side view he needed. Those beautiful cupid lips circled around that hard and veiny cock, taking it in like a starving harlot. He didn’t hesitate, he was not shy about his duties. He spit and slurped and swallowed that cock all the way down his graceful throat.

T-bag couldn’t help himself, he whipped his own prick out and began to jerk it.

* * *

Lincoln groaned. His chest was heaving in ecstatic delirium. Michael slid a hand beneath his ass and squeezed as Linc bucked upward. He felt his big brother shiver with delight. He hadn’t changed at his core. No matter how many years passed Mike would always be able to please him. To give him that sweet release.

"Mmmm!"

Linc’s voice had gotten a lot deeper since that first time so long ago. His stamina had likewise increased. Michael pulled his head up to smack his brother’s cock against his lips, against his face with pride. He noted the way Lincoln groaned with each impact before lowering his mouth to his ball sack. There he licked around, getting the wrinkled skin all wet. When he took one into his mouth,

Lincoln nearly lifted off the bed.

"Uuuuuh!"

Michael played around with his tongue, one ball then the other, loving the noises Linc croaked in response. His cock was a dark red now, the head bordering on purple. Michael read him with expertise, knowing he was painfully close. Without hands he captured Lincoln back into his mouth and swallowed him in one gulp.

His brother actually growled.

That was new. Michael tried to ignore his excitement at discovering yet another layer to his brother and continued to fellate him. Faster and faster, he could feel Lincoln escalating. God if he could make it last longer but soon they wouldn’t be alone and he had to finish him off before the others got back. Remembering just where to hit him, Michael slid a finger down his crack and teased his asshole simultaneously.

Sober Lincoln Burrows would never let anyone near his asshole. He would say that was fag shit. Too bad he’d never know how much he loved it.

Lincoln blew almost instantly, his gruff voice cracking with the weight of his climax. Michael felt months and months of cum dumped down his throat as he sucked his brother past completion to that special state where all men went when they’d emptied their entire sacs. He felt Lincoln’s tremor then, after the last shot, his entire being relax. Michael didn’t sit up until he made sure that Linc was sucked clean. He licked his lips and swallowed.

"I love you, Linc," he whispered, his hand affectionately caressing his big brother’s thigh.

Like always, Lincoln didn’t respond, just panted hard as he tried to catch his breath. Michael watched him for a good moment, until his chest slowed, his breathing stabilized. Then he stood up, found his brother’s boxers and redressed him. It was how he normally slept so nothing would appear amiss. As with every other time, Lincoln would never be the wiser. But he’d wake up relaxed and willing to hear Michael out.  
Lincoln’s eyes drifted closed. Michael bent down and kissed each his lid. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make his brother happy. No one he could ever love more.

* * *

 

The excitement had gotten to him. Though normally T-bag could make quite the stretch, just seeing Pretty in such a sexual situation had done him in. He’d cum all over his hand in less than 5 min.  
T-bag watched Scofield re-dress his brother and kiss his eyes with love. For a moment he was frozen, his mind blown by the events he’d just witnessed. It wasn’t the incest that shocked him, hell he himself was the product of an incestuous encounter. And it wasn’t the man-on-man action. It was _Scofield_ doing such things. The same pretty Scofield that had rejected his advances from the moment they’d met like he was so much better than him.

So Pretty could fuck his own brother but not him?

T-bag remembered the insults, the inbred redneck and hick cracks that had been thrown his way all his life. Apparently college boys from up North were no better. The only difference here was that neither brother could get pregnant.  
Scofield sat down beside Lincoln on the bed, quietly watching him. The Sink was already out for the count. Guess the head was that good.

Of course it was, he’d witnessed it himself. He’d seen what it had done to Lincoln. Which reminded him, he’d better skedaddle before the honeymoon wore off. Sucre would be looking for him with the items from his half of the list. And as much as he wanted to rub it in Pretty’s face what he’d seen, T-bag knew that now wasn’t the proper time. He’d rather get him alone and out of reach of the Sink. But he’d definitely get him.

Slowly he stepped away, back to from whence he came. In his own room he wiped his cum covered hand on the first shirt he found laying around. It was probably the wetback’s but who gave a shit? He finally had something on that uppity Scofield. The gods had finally smiled down on a Bagwell.


	3. The Deal

Lincoln was in a significantly better mood the next morning. Despite their situation, and LJ’s dilemma, he was more calm, stable, relaxed. Michael and Sucre were playing cards at the ratty table in the living room when he rose from his slumber.

"Morning," he murmured on his way to the kitchen.

Sucre was visibly shocked that he’d even spoken but Michael continued to shuffle.

"Morning," he called back.

His Puerto Rican friend stared.

"What got into him? He’s actually being...nice?"

Michael chuckled.

"I told you I’d handle it. We had a good talk last night. He should be fine now."

" _Ai Papi_  , you truly are a miracle worker."

"What can I say, he’s my brother. I know how to deal with him."

Behind him a loud clearing of the throat. Michael already knew who it was before he spoke.

"Yes, you do know how to handle your brother."

There was an air of sleaze to his tone. Sucre didn’t notice but Mike picked it up. T-bag sat down at the table, directly beside him.

"Deal me in."

Michael didn’t bother to look at him.

"What took you so long with the list last night, Theodore?"

T-bag’s eyes were on him.

"I told you, had to be extra careful on account of busy eyes."

Lincoln came from the kitchen then with a fat sandwich. Michael could see that it was loaded with extra ham and other condiments. He fought his smirk at the predictability of his brother. Yep, he’d never change.

"That’s some sandwich you got there," T-bag commented.

"A real _mouthful_ , wouldn’t you say, Scofield?"

Michael didn’t acknowledge him. There was something about the way he was speaking this morning that was dubious. Like he was hinting at something.

"Yea, bread and lunch meat was on the list," Sucre reminded him.

Lincoln started to pass the table when Mike pat the remaining seat. If T-bag was acting weird he’d need to be reminded of exactly who he was crossing. Regardless of his mood, Linc’s presence alone served as an excellent enforcer.

T-bag watched as he sat and bit hungrily into his sandwich.

"Sleep well Sink?"

Lincoln shrugged, his mouth chewing.

"I’m glad to see you’re feeling better."

Michael glanced his way, his bullshit meter ticking. T-bag was awfully talkative this morning.

"Must’ve had a good night, huh?"

Linc didn’t catch on, because well how could he but Mike had the sinking feeling that T-bag knew something he shouldn’t.

"You know what’ll make a good morning?" Linc remarked between bites, "If you shut the hell up talking to me like we’re friends or something."

Sucre smiled at that and Michael had to admit he loved Linc for it.

T-bag sighed theatrically.

"Well my bad there, Sink. Thinking we could be friendly. I guess we could never be as friendly as you and your brother though."

That confirmed it. The backwoods boy definitely knew something. Michael kept his face neutral as he knew T-bag was looking to rattle them up. How utterly stupid of him to antagonize Lincoln first thing in the morning though. Especially after everything they’d just been through in the past few weeks. Did he not remember the time-bomb they’d witnessed just yesterday?

"He’s my brother dipshit."

Linc wasn’t mad. Yet. But he wasn’t known for a calm temperament.

"And a very giving brother he is. Why I knew somebody that had a brother like yours once."

Michael didn’t like the way T-bag was smirking as he spoke.

Even Sucre began to sense that something was going on. He looked up from his cards at the Alabama native.

"Aye, we’re trying to play cards. You want to play Chatty Kathy go do it elsewhere."

Bagwell sent him a level glance. His shifty eyes roamed from Sucre to Lincoln then rested on Michael. He didn’t say anything but his demeanor said that he knew a secret.

"Fine, I think I’ll hit the shower," he announced, rising from his chair.

Sucre went back to his cards.

"Yea, well you just stay away from my stuff while you’re in there. I saw my shirt you nasty son of a bitch. You owe me a new one."

T-bag only grinned and left them, his stride too cocky for Michael’s liking. He knew. Goddammit he knew.

"What’d he do to your shirt?" Linc asked with his mouth full.

"Horny bastard used it as a cum towel last night."

"Gross."

"I’ll say. Probably thinking about some 13 year old or something. Sick _puto_."

Michael had a pretty good idea what he’d been jerking to. There was no other explanation for it. His sudden insinuations of indecent things between he and Linc? How else could he know? He must have been there last night. It explained why he’d been so late getting back with his half of the supply list.

"I have to take a leak."

He left the table straight for T-bag and Sucre’s room. There he found the older man undressing. Michael shut the door behind him, and glowered as T-bag removed his pants.

"Alright, you’ve had something you wanted to say all morning. Say it."

T-bag raised his eyebrows feigning innocence.

"Why Scofield I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Mike had neither the time nor the patience for this game.

"Theodore," he warned.

T-bag looked at him, amusement on his face.

"You think you’re so much better than me don’t you? With your fancy degree and you’re holier than thou morality. What is it

really that separates us though, Scofield?"

"You rape and murder people and have no regard for human life," Michael answered coolly.

T-bag smiled triumphantly.

"Yea and you rape your own brother."

Before he could stop himself, Michael charged him, pinning him against the wall in a rage. To accuse him of something so acrid. So _Bagwellish_.

"You better watch what you say Theodore."

T-bag’s smile grew.

"What’s wrong, Pretty? Don’t like it when the truth hits ya?"

Michael wanted to shove his face through the wall.

"I wasn’t sure until this morning when I talked to Lincoln. I threw every hint at him and he didn’t even flinch. Nothing whatsoever. Now I know you’re good at that pokerface thing but everybody knows about your brother’s temper. If I of all people were to catch him in such a compromising position he’d do more than insult me over a ham sandwich."

Which explained why he’d deliberately antagonized Lincoln. He’d been testing him. Mike had to give T-bag credit, he’d completely underestimated him.

"You forget I know a thing or two about non-consensual coitus," The Alabamian continued.

"And last night you’re brother was basically a zombie. The man couldn’t even dress himself. At first I figured that might be your kink—I don’t judge those matters—but this morning he doesn’t seem to recollect any of it. It’s like it never happened."

Because it didn’t, it never could for Linc’s sake.

"What exactly did you see?" Mike needed to know.

T-bag glanced down at Michael’s body against his, then back at his face.  
Despite his humor there was a veiled threat in his brown eyes. Theodore Bagwell, the murderer and prison gang leader was very much still alive. Michael took the hint and wisely took a step back.

"What did you see?" he repeated.

T-bag straightened his posture.

"I saw everything," he gleamed.

"You were sucking his cock like a rughead with a chicken bone. And Sink was crowing like a rooster."

Just the memory seemed to trigger something in his eye.

"You knew his body. You knew where to touch and how long to touch it. Like you’ve done this before, Pretty. Tell me. How many times have you mouth-raped your brother?"

T-bag took a step closer to him.

"How many times have you swallowed his soldiers, absorbed them into your body? You know, you are what you eat. How much of Michael Scofield is Lincoln Burrow’s jizz?"

He was sullying the act, making it into something lascivious.

"It’s not like that!" Michael hissed, defensive of what he and Linc shared.

"What I do for my brother is out of love not thrills. It’s a selfless act for his wellbeing. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?"

"I know a thing or two about sucking cock and it ain’t never been selfless. You enjoy it, Scofield. Last night you got off just as much as he did. Even more I bet."

"I don’t have to listen to this."

Michael turned to leave, flustered. He never got flustered.

"You like the control," T-bag drawled, causing Mike to pause and face him again.

"The sense of ownership of his body. He’s your big brother. He’s always been bigger than you, stronger than you. You may be smarter but he can still beat your ass with no problem. But when you have him down in that bed it’s you that’s got all the power. He submits to you, all 260 pounds of muscle is weak to your touch. Simpering, mewling, begging for your lips. For you."

T-bag’s eyes had clouded over. He licked his lips and came even closer. Michael took another step back, his mind not quite ready to deal with this revelation. Normally he didn’t count T-bag’s opinion for shit but there was something in the way he mentioned control that disturbed Michael deeply. It disturbed him because...he recognized the feeling. All the way back to the first time.

When T-bag pressed against him, Michael inched away to fall backward onto the full-sized bed. The Alabamian pounced, throwing his body on top of his. Before Michael could object T-bag was grinding against him, his tool solid and hard.

"Shh, Pretty just let me do this."

But Mike had no intention of allowing that. He started to push him off when those dreaded words came to him.

"You want to keep your brotherly liaison between us you’ll sit the fuck back."

He froze. Thought of Lincoln. How he could never know.

"Yea, that’s more like it."

Bagwell slid a hand into Michael’s pants and squeezed him.

"Take it out. I want to see."

Michael glared at him.

"Now, Pretty."

Hating himself for not seeing this coming, he complied. T-bag immediately took hold of it and began to stroke. Michael gasped, it had been a very long time since anyone had touched him there. He fought the sensation but grew hard rather quickly. T-bag was still in his boxers, but his rigid cock stood out against the material. He continued to grind it into Michael’s warm body.

"Kiss me like you kiss your brother."

His voice was shaky with arousal but an order nonetheless. Seeing no alternative, Michael let his lips brush T-bag’s and they locked into a kiss. It wasn’t tender, Bagwell made sure of that. He nipped with his teeth before going straight French, forcing his tongue into Michael’s mouth. His experienced hand didn’t stop stroking until Mike sported a matching erection.

"Take my cock out."

A jolt of fear shot through Michael at the instruction. Scenarios of being ass-raped by the sexual predator of Coosa County played out in his mind. Was that what this would be? His ass for T-bag’s silence? Fighting the tremble in his hand he freed T-bag’s brick hard meat, earning a quiet moan from the man. That was when things sped up.

T-bag took his mouth again and began grinding his bare erection against Michael’s. As their cocks rubbed together, pressure mounted in Michael’s groin and he couldn’t help but to moan. It was stifled by T-bag’s mouth on his. He kissed him back, hating that his own hips were responding to the gyrations. His own breathing was quickening. His own prick was leaking precum between their bellies.

He hadn’t had sex in over a year. What with the planning and implementation of the Fox River escape he hadn’t had time for anyone. He could be fanatical that way. Then in the prison and after the run, all of the stress he’d been under...His body had literally been starved sexually. Now of all people it was T-bag who offered him the break in fast. How ironic.  
Be that as it was, Michael felt himself losing the battle between body and mind. His pelvis began to rock faster. Harder. His movements caught Bagwell by surprise.

"Slow down, Pretty," he whispered huskily.

But Michael couldn’t. He was chasing a wave now, a wave of gratification that he’d denied himself for far too long. He responded by pulling T-bag closer to him, and grinding even faster against him.

"Oh shit," Bagwell breathed.

Both men lost themselves then, kissing and grinding and panting until Michael came first. His hips went into spasms, jerking hard against the male body above him. Spilling his seed all over the both of them. His frenzy was enough to drive T-bag over and soon he was shooting his fluid between them, mingling it with Michael’s. He groaned into Michael’s mouth, his lips hot and slick. It took them a few minutes to collect themselves.

"Goddamn you are something else Scofield."

Michael didn’t look at him, a heavy sense of shame shrouding him suddenly. How had he come to this? To be in bed writhing under T-bag?! Gang leader, rapist extraordinaire. Murderer of teens.

"I have to go."

He shoved T-bag off of him and sat up. When he did he noticed the mess on his shirt. Cum covered it, inside and out. Bewildered, he pulled it over his head and wiped himself down. He was aware of Bagwell watching him as he tucked his prick back into his pants.

"Don’t."

He knew the Alabama shit talker had something to say. He always did.

"I didn’t—"

"Just don’t."

Michael fought the urge to scream, to flee from the presence of the man with whom he’d just debased himself. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his hands and weep at the events his own negligence had allowed to transpire. His own underestimation of a formidable enemy. But he couldn’t show weakness. Vulnerability was a liability.  
Fixing his face to the unreadable mask he’d perfected over the years, Michael faced T-bag.

"What are your terms?"

Bagwell was wiping himself off with his own discarded shirt. Michael tried not to notice the massive amount of semen. It had been a very long dry spell.

"Pardon?"

Michael didn’t blink.

"Your terms. You have information that I don’t want to get out. What will it take for us to reach an understanding?"

T-bag didn’t hesitate with his answer.

"I want to fuck you."

Michael quelled his reaction.

"Is that it? Fuck me one time?"

He didn’t want to but he needed to put this matter to bed. There was no way he could ever allow Lincoln to know.

"I want you to blow me like you blow your brother," T-bag specified, his southern swagger in every syllable.

"All enthusiastic and worshiping. Then I get to fuck you however I like."

Michael nodded his acceptance.

"Fair enough."

"For the rest of our stay here," Bagwell added.

Michael nearly clenched his jaw but caught himself. No reaction.

"We could be here for a month."

"So."

T-bag licked his lips. God this was going to bite him in the ass.

"Once a week," Michael negotiated.

"Once a day," T-bag countered.

Now that was just unreasonable.

"Once a week fucking. Twice a week blow job."

"Once a day fucking, twice a day--"

Michael sighed, exasperated.

"Look, Theodore I don’t have much time. Sucre and my brother are probably wondering why I’m not back yet and I want to square things with you before I leave this room. So let’s try to come up with something realistic, shall we? You know damn well once a day is impossible in this small space. Once a week we can pull off without drawing suspicion. Now again, what’s your terms?"

T-bag gave him a look, one that promised he’d regret using that tone.

"You want my terms? Here goes."

The Fox River gang leader was back.

"We fuck when I say we fuck. You blow me when I say you blow me and I keep your little secret, Pretty. You don’t worry about the location, we’ll figure something out but as long as we’re here together your ass belongs to me."

He stood, grabbed a towel.

"Now you take care to watch the way you speak to me, boy lest I add another stipulation to our arrangement."

He leaned in close and gave Michael a peck on the lips before leaving for the shower. Mike blinked, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand before darting from the room, retreating to the one he and Lincoln shared. There he stripped off the clothes that had touched T-bag’s skin and changed into a completely different outfit before crashing in the corner.

But he felt no better.

Because he couldn’t shake the words that Bagwell had said about controlling Linc’s body and owning him. He’d spoken with such clarity, such understanding.

_Tell me. How many times have you mouth-raped your brother._

Rape. Was that what he’d been doing to Lincoln all these years? He’d only wanted to help him and it worked so well. It was exactly what he needed to bring him back from the brink. Even this morning he was much better, eating and playing cards. Mike had helped his big brother. He always had.  
But what about those feelings of pride when he made Lincoln scream? When Lincoln trembled beneath him in orgasm? The truth was, he did like that. He did like being the one to make it happen. He did like owning his brother’s pleasure. He did like the control.

"Oh my god."

He had a lot more in common with his predatory "ally" than he’d thought. The revelation threw Michael’s mind into a tailspin and this time he did bury his face in his hands. With no one to witness his vulnerability, he finally let lose and wept.

He was still crying when he heard familiar footfalls.

"Michael?"

Linc shut the door behind him and was immediately at his side.

"Michael, what’s wrong?"

Mike didn’t look up at him, couldn’t bear the guilt.

"I’m so sorry, Linc. I just love you so much. I couldn’t let you suffer."

His brother met him on the floor and pulled him into his arms, holding him like when they were kids.

"Hey, It’s alright. I’m here. It’s going to be okay."

Michael saw T-bag’s face, that creepy leer.

"It’s not Linc. I fucked up. I fucked it all up and now we’re stuck here and it’s just...fucked!"

Lincoln began to rock him, much like that first night when their mom had died. He rested his cheek on the top of Michael’s head and sighed.

"No Mike, you didn’t fuck anything up. You saved me. You saved my life, my sanity. When I was in the hole those last days do you know what kept me going? You did. My faith in you. In knowing that whatever happened, I could always count on my baby brother."

Michael kept his face buried in Linc’s chest, the solid muscle warm and comforting. In his big brother’s arms he felt safe, protected. He could stay in those arms for the rest of his life.

In the recesses of his mind he was aware that he and Lincoln were talking about 2 different things. Linc was talking about Fox River, the escape and the current hiccup in the plan. Michael closed his eyes against his brother and let the tears continue.  
Okay, maybe it was wrong what he was doing to Lincoln but at the end of the day it did help keep Linc safe. From himself anyway. If Mike had to break a few moral codes then that was worth it. There was no price too steep when it came to saving his brother.

_"We fuck when I say we fuck. You blow me when I say you blow me and I keep your little secret, Pretty."_

He remembered T-bag’s menacing eyes as he’d backed him onto the bed.

_"...as long as we’re here together your ass belongs to me."_

He pressed himself closer to Lincoln until he could feel the beating of his heart and loved him with all his soul as he continued to cry.


	4. T-bag

It was the middle of the night when he came to him, shaking him awake in bed.

"Scofield, let’s go. You and I got business to tend to."

Michael opened his eyes, half asleep.

"Huh?"

T-bag gave him a firm slap to the face.

"Move it, Pretty."

Alert now, his eyes darted to his sleeping brother. If Lincoln caught the convicted rapist in their room he’d clobber him.

"You’re brother sleeps like a bear, come on."

Reluctantly, Michael climbed out of bed. He slept in boxers and nothing else. T-bag took his bare shoulder and hurried him out of the room. He didn’t stop pushing until they’d reached the bathroom at the far end of the hall. There he shoved Michael inside before locking the door behind them.

"Strip."

Michael stared. This was really about to happen.

"We can’t do this now. Sucre will hear."

T-bag was also in his undies, no socks or shirt. His face exuded no patience. Just dark lust.

"Turn on the shower."

To drown out the noise, Michael knew. For a moment he hesitated.

"I’m sorry but did you forget a certain arrangement?" his nemesis cooed.

Michael swallowed, did as asked. The sound of the spray clouded their ears. He turned from the nozzle to find Bagwell raking him in with his lude gaze.

"Strip," he repeated.

Mike thought of Lincoln, of the trust he couldn’t lose and complied. He watched the Coosa County native bite his lip hungrily, no doubt his mind danced with dirty thoughts. He moved to Michael, let his finger tips trace the tattoo lines across the younger man’s chest before sucking on his teeth in anticipation.

"Get on your knees."

Michael kneeled down facing the swollen flesh protruding from Bagwell’s drawers. Knowing what was next, he took the waistband and pulled them south. T-bag’s prick bounced out proudly, demanding attention.

Michael needed no prompting. He remembered the instructions, to blow him like he blew his brother so he closed his eyes and pictured Lincoln. His large, muscular body, the girth of his package. Though, he had to admit Bagwell wasn’t exactly lacking in that area. Especially in his erect state.

But he wasn’t Lincoln.

Mike heard T-bag groan under his breath as he opened wide and took his whole cock. A rough hand rested on top of his head and began stroking his close cut hair.

"That’s it, Pretty. Take it all in."

He slid back out, allowing his spit to coat his wood before administering a few licks to the head. Then his mouth moved back in.

Another groan from his nemesis. A tinge of salt landed on Mike’s tongue in the form of precum. A prelude of things to follow.

_Just think about Linc. I’ll be fine._

But T-bag groaned again and his voice was nothing like Lincoln’s. His fingers kneaded Michael’s scalp and they felt nothing like Lincoln’s fingers. (Of course Linc was always too drugged out to even use his fingers but that wasn’t his fault now was it?)  
He hated to admit it but T-bag was making it awfully hard to concentrate on the fantasy. Especially with the scalp massage. Those sensitive nerves purred under his well worn fingers. Michael involuntarily shivered.

"Oh you like that?"

When Bagwell talked dirty his voice dropped an octave. Smooth like Alabama honey.

"You like sucking this cock, Pretty?"

He moved his hips forward, ramming his cock into Mike’s tonsils. Michael groaned in response, causing vibrations to resonate through T-bag’s member. The sensation made him tense in pleasure. Bagwell threw his head skyward and cursed.  
Michael hated him—truly hated the redneck but oddly he found this contact...dare he think it arousing? He’d always thought that it was just Lincoln’s cock he enjoyed in his mouth but as his tongue slashed between that slit at the head lapping up precum, Michael realized that it was also the feel of a hard prick, the taste of it, the reaction he got when he sucked it that he enjoyed.  
The control.

Even as T-bag began thrusting faster into his throat, taking over the pace, Michael was still in control. It was his mouth that was shortening Bagwell’s breath, his lips that were causing him to lose it. That fact was exhilarating!

As T-bag literally fucked his face, Michael had to grab hold of the predator’s thighs to keep his balance. Bagwell’s pubic sweat permeated him, his balls slapping his chin as his movements grew harried.

"...fucking pretty lips..." T-bag was groaning.

"...so fucking beautiful..."

He was beginning to pant, his grip around Michael’s skull tightening. As his hair was too short to grab, T-bag substituted by grasping the back of his head. His thrusts went rampant, leaving no down time for Michael to breathe. After a minute with no air, Mike attempted to pull back and catch his breath but Bagwell held him in place.  
His words became less coherent and more grunts. His hips hit a fever. He was hard fucking him now, his prick brutally beating Michael’s throat. Again Mike struggled but to no avail.

Suddenly images of his dead body, naked with a mouthful of cum charged him. Asphyxiation by cock. This was T-bag after all.

He’d done much worse to the people he fucked. Sucre’s room was closer so maybe he’d find him. Oh God what if Lincoln found him?

Panicked at that thought, he began fighting harder, hitting Bagwell’s legs. The lack of oxygen was messing with his head. His sight was beginning to darken. Despite his effort T-bag was unmovable. He was entranced, in the grips of something stronger than the both of them. The struggle only increased it, the bastard was getting off on that for sure. Physical domination. Control. What rapists were made of.

Just when Michael was sure that he would pass out, T-bag gave an extra hard grunt and suddenly he was filling him. Straight down Mike’s throat burning hot semen cascaded. His muscles automatically swallowed, and he was forced to do so until the last of T-bag’s release. When Bagwell finally pulled out of his mouth, Michael fell on all fours, gasping in air.

"Sweet Jesus," T-bag breathed.

He slumped back on the wall, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. Michael glared over at him, still unable to speak. His sexual counterpart didn’t pay it any mind.

The both of them took the time to compose themselves, never taking their eyes off each other. For Michael it was wariness, but for T-bag it was desire.

"You know, Pretty, I rather like you in this position."

He rolled his tongue over his lips as he watched Michael’s bare ass.

"I think I’ll try it sometime."

Michael ignored the anxiety that statement produced. Just looking at the way he’d mouth-fucked him, how much more aggressive would he be on his ass? Especially given Michael’s inexperience in that area.  
When he was able, Mike started to climb to his feet.

"Uh uh, where do you think you’re going?" T-bag spoke like he was scolding a mischievous child.

Michael looked at him deadpan.

"I need to brush my teeth and get back to bed."

Clean your stink off of me, he wanted to say but thought better of it. Bagwell might act out and he was not in the mood.

He watched T-bag come to his feet.

"We ain’t done here."

Instantly Mike’s stomach dropped. He didn’t allow it to show on his face.

"Theodore—"

T-bag waved off any response.

"You ain’t going nowhere, Pretty. Not til I’m done with you."

Michael felt the flutters of fear sparking up inside. Genuine fear of what T-bag had planned for him. He thought of Fox River and all of the men who’d been forced to hold onto his pocket and God knew what else. He thought about Seth, how the poor kid had hung himself rather than continue to be T-bag’s sex slave. What was he doing that was so much more horrible than simple rape?  
T-bag was smiling as he opened the shower curtain and gestured for him to enter. Michael hesitated, fought to keep his lip from trembling. He was going to fuck him. God he was really going to fuck him. Images of blood spilling from his rectum gave Michael pause.

"I don’t think now is the right time," he stalled.

The smile dropped from T-bag’s face and that darkness was back.

"Get. In. Scofield."

If he didn’t he’d be bleeding out of more than his rectum. His steel mask on, Michael scooted past T-bag’s leering gaze and stepped into the shower. He wasn’t surprised when Bagwell joined him.  
The men faced each other, Michael’s back to the warm water. T-bag looked him over before laying a hand on his chest, again tracing the tattoo.

"You know, back at Fox River when I would see you just strutting around in the showers I knew that one day I would fuck you in one."

He used the tips of his fingers over each line, drawing goosebumps on Michael’s skin. Whether they came from fear or something else remained to be seen.

"I imagined pinning you to the wall, smacking that tight ass of yours—" he reached around Michael to cup his backside and squeeze— “and fucking the living daylights out of you. I wasn’t the only one but a man with your looks would already know that."

His fingers circled a nipple and Michael flinched at the contact. T-bag noticed and did it again.

"How are you so goddamned beautiful, Scofield?" he thumbed the nipple, smiling at the shiver it caused before trailing his fingers south.

Michael quivered under his touch, he definitely hadn’t felt this kind of sensation in a long time. Again, Lincoln could never touch him back. And his last sex partner (ages ago) had been more of an escape. When Bagwell reached his ribcage, Michael breathed. When he reached his abdomen something stirred. As he was completely naked and in extremely close proximity, both men noticed when his cock twitched.

Embarrassment colored his face red. He was not getting hard for this redneck.

"I—"

T-bag smirked knowingly.

"No need to be shy. We’re just two men showering together."

He licked his lips. Michael looked away from that lustful gleam. He didn’t want to see the satisfaction in that bastard’s eyes as he made his body react. He didn’t want to watch him enjoy it. This wasn’t about T-bag, he reminded himself. This was a neglected body’s normal reaction to stimuli. Purely physiological. There was nothing about the creep before him that could ever illicit any response other than disgust.

A hand gripping his balls wrung an audible gasp from Michael’s throat. He had to grab the wall for support. T-bag groaned as he fondled them in his hand and Michael swelled to full attention. He toyed with him some more, maneuvering them in his fingers. Michael bit his lip and couldn’t help the moan that escaped him.  
He glanced down at the hand teasing him, noted the hardening cock of his teaser as well. His eyes widened as he realized the ultimate plan.

"The blow-job," he managed breathily.

"You just...wanted to g-get off before...mmm!"

T-bag was watching him with that dark cloud again, one that promised sexual domination. Michael looked away, hoping to hide the paralyzing fear that brought.  
He wasn’t just going to ass-fuck him. He was going to ass-fuck him long and hard. The blow-job had been to give him release so that the second time around he would last longer. Much like how guys jacked off before a big night with a girl. This would not be a three minute encounter.

Oh god.

Normally Michael was the king of masking emotion but in his compromised state he slipped up. T-bag noticed, and he could tell the Alabamian did because that gleam shined brighter. It fed his fire, the fear he stirred. Again, a true rapist at heart.

"Against the wall, Pretty."  
While Michael complied, T-bag reached out of the shower to grab something. He could hear his impatience as he fiddled with the cap, squeezed something out. Then he palmed Michael’s ass before spreading the cheeks apart. Michael trembled just as a slick finger slipped in.

"Ow!"

It was new, it wasn’t gentle and it was terrifying to know what would enter next. Despite the discomfort, however, he didn’t feel anything tear. T-bag began moving the finger around and Michael could only stare down at his own erection. The finger became two and he could feel the anticipation killing the man behind him as he thrust his fingers hurriedly. Then the fingers withdrew and he felt T-bag’s prick at his entryway.

His body was shaking now, light enough that only one so close would notice. T-bag just happened to be that close.

"What’s the matter, Pretty? You scared of Uncle Teddy?"

Michael swallowed. Vulnerability was a liability.

"Let’s just get this over with," he bluffed, glad that Bagwell couldn’t see his face.

But T-bag didn’t jump in. He pressed himself closer, his hardness sliding up Michael’s buttocks.

"Wait a minute. You ain’t never...?"

His breath was on the back of Mike’s neck. The hot air tingled.

"What’s it matter?" Michael spat, his nerves on end.

"We have an arrangement right?"

It was T-bag’s turn to be the observant one. Sexual exploits were his domain after all.

"With what you done to your brother I’d assumed you must’ve at least had one man before but now I see. You’re a virgin."

There was an upkick to that last sentence that made Michael nervous. No, he was beyond nervous. He was scared shitless.

"To men anyway," T-bag added.

He slid his cock back down to Michael’s hole.

"Looks like I’m going to places no man has gone before."

He pressed the head forward and Michael clenched his jaw. Despite the lube he’d obviously applied, this was a virgin hole he was entering. It wasn’t just going to fall open. But T-bag knew this and pressed further, no doubt he had experience in that realm. Still, Michael couldn’t help the balled fists against the shower wall as he felt that cock easing deep into his ass. His panicked mind began to scream.

_It’s too big. Stuff that big shouldn’t be in an ass!_

"Lord that’s tight," T-bag breathed once he was all the way in.

Michael was stock still, not wanting to agitate the stretch he felt inside. It hurt in a new way, not overbearing but unfamiliar. He feared the pain could and would get worse once the motion began. It was time to find out.  
Bagwell’s strokes started out slow and deep. This surprised Michael as he’d figured him for an out of control savage. But he was also an older man who’d been doing this for many years. He was bound to have some finesse.

He felt T-bag’s tongue on his back, tracing his tattoo teasingly. Michael’s skin perked with goosebumps. This wasn’t at all like he’d imagined. Pain, blood, humiliation. Contrarily the closeness, the tight, possessive grip on his hip, the tongue on his skin was actually pretty nice. He found himself beginning to relax into the moment.

Then T-bag’s prick hit something inside him that shocked his entire body with pleasure. Michael cried out before he could stop himself.

"Shh, you want to wake Sucre?" Bagwell taunted him, remembering his earlier concern.

But Sucre was the farthest thing from his mind. When he felt the same spot triggered again, Michael moaned into it. He’d never experienced anything like it before. But he needed more.  
In the back of his mind he knew what this was called, what man hadn’t heard about the prostate, but his mind couldn’t wrap around it to give it a name. All he could do was react to it.

Again Bagwell struck it and Michael cursed out loud. He turned his face to the side, smashing his cheek against the wall as he voiced his pleasure.

"Fuck...oh...fuck!"

His arched against him, driving T-bag deeper inside. Michael closed his eyes, overwrought with the sensation. Behind him, Bagwell maintained his pace. Nice and slow. Long and deep. His lips met the skin on Michael’s back, peppering it with soft and wet kisses. Luring him further in. They went on like this, T-bag stroking him steadily. Michael falling deeper. Lulled into a sense of safety against him. He was wide open.

T-bag slid his hand from Michael’s hip to his front and seized his fully rigid prick. He used his hips to pin Michael’s waist flat against the wall. Instead of jerking him, he teased him with squeezes and fondling. Running his thumb over the tiny slit of his cock’s head, earning a heavy groan from the now writhing form beneath him.  
How many times had he writhed under Bagwell today?  
Michael was biting his lips, trying but failing to control his vocals. His body was moving, unused to feeling this type of good. He was completely at his mercy.

Just when he feared he was going to pop, T-bag pulled out and spun him around to face him. Michael’s back hit the wall hard but neither party cared. He stared at the older felon with heat in his gray eyes.  
T-bag pinned him, lifting his leg before slamming his cock back inside. Michael cursed excitedly as he wrapped the leg around him. Like their grind session earlier, he squeezed Bagwell closer.

Because of the new angle there was more to play with. T-bag kissed Michael’s chest and began to suckle the wet skin. He was sure it would leave a mark but at that particular moment he didn’t give a shit.  
Michael’s cock was pressed between them beyond rock hard at the skin-to-skin contact. With each stroke Bagwell’s belly connected with his. His good hand held Michael’s ass firmly.

"God...Teddy I’m—I’m—"

Teddy. Theodore. Names that Mike and Linc often used to antagonize him. But they were his real names, just as much as the prison moniker T-bag. And Teddy just burst through his lips. T-bag growled at the name and thrust harder. Faster. Even harder still. Michael gasped as his cock exploded, cum shooting up to his chest, his chin, T-bag’s lowered face against his pecs. His mouth had been wide open and a shot hit his lower lip. He didn’t notice, his body convulsing with the climax. His muscles sank after that and T-bag had to hold him up.

Still very much rearing to go, Bagwell fucked him hard, causing Michael to tremor with every thrust. Still reeling from his release, Mike cradled T-bag’s head to his chest, massaging his wet scalp under the stream. Bagwell grunted crudely, no longer finessing his young partner. Now he was at his primal. Reduced to the animal within.

He came harder than anticipated, burying his exclamation in Michael’s chest as he groaned way too loudly. Their bodies shook together, both utterly blown by the reality of what they’d just done. They’d come a long way from the bleachers at Fox River.

"You came on my face," T-bag managed through shallow breaths.

He was still inside him, still pressed against him possessively.

Michael swallowed, his faculties not all regained. He knew that he should move, separate from the man inside him but...he’d never come so hard in all his life. Never lost control, never enjoyed sex as much as he had this night. He wanted to revel in that.

"Sorry?"

What could he say? He hadn’t made himself cum. T-bag looked up at him then and their lips were suddenly locked. The kiss was fire, one of yearning and ownership all in one. He could feel it, Bagwell was claiming him in some way. That made him nervous and Michael was the one to break the kiss. They stared at each other a good minute.

"I’d better get back to my room," Michael said quietly.

T-bag made no move to disengage. He licked his lips, absently collecting the drop of Michael’s cum that had transferred during the kiss.

"You go back when I say you can go back."

But his threat didn’t feel malicious this time. Michael just stared at him. After a moment, he slid his half hard cock from Michael’s ass, dropping his leg back to the shower floor.

"Wash up. Then get out of here."

He did as instructed, aware of T-bag’s eyes on him the entire time. Once he was finished he stepped out the shower and toweled off. He found his boxers and pulled them on, noticing a soreness in his anus as he bent over. He grimaced but kept it moving. As he exited the bathroom door T-bag called to him.

"Scofield."

He paused to look back.

"That ass is mine now. Don’t you go giving it to nobody else, ya hear?"

Like who? There were only two other men around and they were totally off the table. Michael started to make a retort when the statement truly hit him. T-bag didn’t mean Lincoln or Sucre. He meant anyone. Ever.

"Theodore—" he began.

"Nobody. Else."

His dark eyes held a threat that, despite all that he’d put Michael through over the past year, sent a real tremor of terror through his soul. Not even Lincoln could help him out of this one. Of course he hid that fear, vulnerability and all.  
Instead he nodded, his face expressionless. But T-bag wasn’t fooled. He motioned for Michael to leave, his eyes still threatening as the door closed before him.

Michael gulped, hurrying back to his room almost in a run. There he locked the door, pressed his back to it and finally released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His chest heaved, a combination of apprehension, excitement and fear inside. From what he’d done, what he’d felt doing it and knowing that there was no way that T-bag would allow him to stop. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to.

Of course he should stop. It was T-bag for Christ’s sake. The man was deplorable, reprehensible, blood-thirsty and cruel. He was the literal embodiment of everything Michael stood against.

He’d done horrible things.

But the things he’d done to Michael’s body...

A noise from the bed caught Michael’s attention. Lincoln, coughing in his sleep. His heart immediately melted at the sight of his brother. Linc was on his back, taking up more than half the bed as usual. He walked over, slid in beside him and nestled up close. His apprehension dissipated instantly. Michael rested his head on his hard chest, allowed a leg to drape over him as he hugged him close.

Whatever happened, whatever mess he’d gotten himself into, he knew that as long as he had Lincoln he’d be able to pull through. Mike would figure it out for the both of them.

* * *

T-bag finished his shower, dried quickly and went straight to bed. He ignored Sucre’s still form, obviously pretending to be asleep. He wasn’t snoring lightly like he usually did. Under the cover he closed his eyes and remembered Michael. He’d wanted to ravage him. To split that pretty ass in half and laugh at his pain but gazing upon that beautiful body up close and personal another thought had come to him. Rather than make him hurt for a brief period why not make him his for the long term?

Scofield was a virgin, untouched, untainted by any other man. That made him vulnerable. Susceptible to the lucky bastard that happened to be first to poke him. If he made Pretty like it, he’d be begging to do it again...and again and again. Based on his reaction tonight, it was safe to assume that he’d liked it. A few more fucks and College Boy would be completely turned out. He’d be begging for it. He’d be his. That thought alone brought him contentment.

T-bag fell asleep with a smile on his face, literally one fuck closer to owning the elusive Michael Scofield.

 


	5. Sucre

For the next few days they kept up appearances. Michael managed to appear nonchalant despite what was happening to him. The war inside him as T-bag came to him every night. He didn’t want to enjoy it but he always did. Afterward he’d feel guilty, even disgusted with himself but snuggling up to Linc always eased his mind. It was a cycle, one he wasn’t sure he could break.

One thing was for certain though, the sexual awakening was real.

It took about a week before Sucre started acting weird. Michael would catch him staring when he thought no one was looking, concern on his face. By now it was fairly obvious that he knew. Hell, he’d probably heard them that very first night. Embarrassment bloomed within Michael at the thought but what could he do? He’d made an arrangement.  
His Puerto Rican friend finally cornered him in the bathroom one afternoon—the only place where they could talk in private.

Michael glanced up, his dick in his hand.

"Sucre what—?"

"What the hell are you doing, Papi?" he whispered, shutting the door behind him.

Michael gestured toward the lifted toilet seat.

"I’m trying to take a piss."

Sucre waved it off.

"Dude, we were cellmates, you think I never seen you piss?"

"Well you asked."

He continued to pee.

"You know damn well what I mean," Sucre hissed.

"I hear you. Every night like clockwork. Is T-bag making you do that?"

Michael looked down into the toilet, mask in place.

"What is it you think you hear?" he asked, deadpan.

"Don’t play me, _Papi_. I know what fucking sounds like. Especially when it’s right on the other side of my wall."  
He came closer, looked into Michael’s face.

"Why are you doing it? What’s he got on you?"

Michael sighed. He’d drunken a lot of water earlier.

"What makes you so sure that he’s making me?" he threw out there.

Sucre didn’t see his humor. In fact his features darkened in disgust.

"Because he raped and killed kids, Michael. And would’ve done the same to you if Abruzzi hadn’t stepped in."

That cold slap in the face turned Michael’s stomach. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to retch in front of his friend. When he opened them, Sucre’s expression had softened.

"Hey, you’re going to be okay. We’ll find a way out of it."

He thought about Lincoln. About the secret.

"There is no way out of it," he resolved.

Finished, Michael gave himself two shakes before Sucre suddenly took his shoulders.

"No way out of it?" his friend repeated, incredulous.

"They said the same thing about Fox River but you managed to get 8 people out. Papi, you figure things out. It’s what you do. If anybody can find a way out of it, it’s you!"

His brown eyes were full of faith, faith in Michael. To see someone believe so much in him despite what he’d allowed to happen shook the young felon.

"That was different, I helped design the place. This is something I never—" he caught himself, not wishing to divulge too much.

Not even to Sucre. God he was slipping. He’d never been this confused before. This negligent. When he caught Sucre studying him, Michael pulled away. Sucre tightened his grip, realization flaring in his eyes

" _Dios mio_. He didn’t just fuck you. He mind-fucked you."

Michael shook his head in denial. No, he never got mind-fucked. He did the mind-fucking.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"I know you. You would never give T-bag the upper-hand like this. What the hell did he do to you?"

His brown eyes were searching, again trying to read him. Trying to understand what would make Michael Scofield of all people reduce himself to such sick activities. That hurt, because Sucre was right. He had fallen. Deep down to the lowest muck. Hating himself, Michael looked away. Sucre didn’t speak for a moment. Then he knew.

"He’s your first, isn’t he?"

Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself not to give it away. He didn’t trust himself with anything anymore. His silence gave the answer.

"Oh no _meijo_."

Perhaps it was because they had been cellmates, because they’d had to trust each other with their lives on numerous occasions even before the escape but next to Linc, Sucre was the closest thing Mike had to a best friend. So when Sucre suddenly hugged him, his first instinct wasn’t to fight. He just stood there, a bit taken back.

" _Pagará por lo que te hizo_."

Michael was just about to ask him to clarify when the door swung open.

"Hey Mike, how long you gonna be—" Lincoln froze mid-sentence at the two men standing. No, hugging.

They quickly jumped apart, though Michael was sure his reason was different from Sucre’s. He didn’t want his brother to know anything was wrong. Sucre just wanted to protect his rep.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Linc had that protective tone.

Sucre opened his mouth.

"We were just talking about—"

"The plan," Michael lied.

Sucre shot him a look.

Linc’s eyes landed on Michael.

"Yea? With your dick hanging out?"

Michael quickly tucked himself in.

"I can pee and talk at the same time," he remarked.

Lincoln was unconvinced.

"Unless you were peeing on Sucre—"

"Whoa, hold on," Sucre protested.

"It’s not even like that."

"Yea? So I walk in on you hugging my brother with his dick out and you say it’s not even like that. A guy that’s been in prison for how long, Fernando?"

" _Pendeijo_ , I was just trying to—"

"I know what you were trying to do."

"Michael tell him why I’m really here or I will," Sucre insisted.

All eyes went to Michael but it wasn’t him that spoke.

"Yes, Scofield , do explain why you and the Mexican are alone together with—how did your brother put it—your dick hanging out?"

T-bag appeared behind Linc in the doorway, his eyes focused on one man.

"Puerto Rican," Sucre corrected.

Michael flushed the toilet, went on to wash his hands.

"I guess a man can’t pee without an audience around here," he remarked.

"Not when that man is as pretty as you," T-bag retorted.

Lincoln turned around and nearly decked him. Michael caught his arm just in time.

"Linc don’t!"

He snatched away but didn’t swing again.

"We should’ve fucking left you in that shed, Bagwell. Why are you even still here?" Lincoln snapped.

T-bag looked him over, not the least bit rattled.

"Because your brother wouldn’t let you, Sink."

He stole a glance at Michael.

"He thinks all human life matters. And contrary to what you feel I am a human life so I matter. _I matter to your brother_."

He spoke that last line with extra syrup, just pouring it on for those who knew about their nights together. Sucre cringed.

Michael swallowed. Lincoln was oblivious.

"Hey, don’t look at him. I’m talking to you."

T-bag transferred his gaze to Linc.

"Keep making eyes at my brother and you’re liable to lose them. Got it?"

The creepiest, most knowing smile crossed Bagwell’s lips as he answered Lincoln.

"Got it, Boss."

He sauntered away then without another word.

"He gives you any problems, Michael, just let me know," Lincoln told his baby brother.

"I don’t like the way he was leering at you."

Sucre looked at Michael, waiting for him to say something.

"I’m a big boy, Linc. I can handle myself," was all he would say.

Sucre frowned his disapproval but thankfully took the cue not to spill what he knew. Again proving to be trustworthy.

"I know but you’re still my brother. I gotta look out for you."

He glanced at Sucre.

"Which means if you try anything—"

"He didn’t," Michael shushed his brother with a hand on the back of his neck.

"But if he had, what makes you think I wouldn’t have wanted him to?"

That earned a puzzled look from both his brother and his friend. When Michael smirked Linc laughed out loud. Sucre shifted uncomfortably.

"Damn Mike, prison really has changed you," Linc chuckled.

"So are you going to tell me what was so important that you had to barge in on me the bathroom?" Michael wanted to know.  
Lincoln shrugged.

"I have to take a shit and you were holding me up."

That was their cue to leave.

"Okay just don’t forget to light a match," his brother laughed as the door shut in his face.  
Sucre only shook his head and they went their separate ways.

* * *

 

T-bag was livid. After the warning he’d given him. After he’d specifically told him that no other man was to get near that perfect ass, his Pretty had to go and have a liaison with the fucking beaner? There was no telling what they’d done, what they’d been about to do. He pictured Michael’s cock, standing hard and tall just hanging out for that wetback to see. To touch. To...

Dead. The Mexican was dead. And Michael? Well it was time he learned his lesson. Perhaps Uncle Teddy had been too good with the loving, getting him too turned out. Now his Pretty had become a real slut, wanting it from everywhere.  
He’d make sure he knew not to give his ass away. Even if he made it hurt to do so. Uncle Teddy had no problem with hurting. It made the sex more gratifying. Images of Michael writhing under him, blood on his thighs, whimpers from his kissable mouth. God he was going to fuck him up good. Make him cry and cum at the same time. That would teach him to give his piece away. His property. Just wait til tonight...

"Sucre."

It wasn’t often that Lincoln Burrows called upon him, but when he did Sucre answered. Linc the Sink was what they’d called him in Fox River. Because when he fought you got everything but the kitchen sink. Hell you got the kitchen sink too! Linc wasn’t one to be messed with. He was every bit as tough as Michael was smart.  
The big man was on the back landing, just in the backyard but hidden by foliage. He didn’t have to motion for Sucre to sit. The request was in the calling of his name.

"Yea?"

Lincoln stared out into the waning sunlight. It was late evening, probably after eight.

"What’s going on with my brother?"

Sucre scratched his head, trying to figure out a way to answer without betraying Michael.

"Wouldn’t it be better to ask him? I’m sure he’d know better than I would."

"I’m asking you."

Fernando sighed. He’d do just about anything for Michael but taking a beat down from the Sink wasn’t on that list.

"I don’t know the details but I just know he’s not in a good place right now. He’d kill me for telling you that much."

Lincoln looked at him.

"That’s why I was in the bathroom with him. So we could talk in private. I swear I never...all that time as cellmates it never even crossed my mind."

"Yea, I never pegged you for the fruity type."

That brought him more relief than it was politically correct to feel.

"I know my brother. Literally all his life. He can be hard to read but I know him. Today in that bathroom, that shit about a plan? I knew he was hiding something and whatever it is it’s bad enough that he doesn’t want me to know. Bad enough that he couldn’t come up with a better lie than that. Now me being who I am, that’s just not acceptable. So again I’ll ask: what’s going on with

Michael?"

Sucre swallowed.

"I told you, he’s in a bad spot. His head’s all whacked from certain components of our situation."

Linc was a straight forward kind of guy.

"What the hell does that mean?" he griped.

Sucre tried to word it as specific yet vaguely as possible.

"Our living arrangements have him under duress. You know, four guys to a small place like this. Like maybe there should be a change in our situation."

"What, you saying he’s got cabin fever?"

Okay this was getting them nowhere.

"It’s T-bag, Linc. Sheesh!"

He’d barely finished his sentence when Lincoln was on his feet.

"I’ll fucking kill him."

Sucre had to jump in front of him to keep him outside.

"Whoa, wait, wait! You didn’t let me finish."

Linc pushed forward, causing him to slide back.

"Don’t have to. He messes with my brother he’s dead."

"I never said he was messing with him," Sucre pointed out.

"Just that his being here is what troubles him."

Technically the truth. If T-bag weren’t there then he wouldn’t be bothering Michael. And as for the messing with him line: he hadn’t said T-bag wasn’t messing with him either. Somehow he thought Mike might get a kick out of that little technicality.

Lincoln stopped.

"So it’s his presence?"

Sucre didn’t answer directly.

"You know how moral Michael is. Imagine what he must feel like with a guy like T-bag around."

That gave the protective brother pause.

"He hates himself for getting T-bag out," he agreed.

"But why wouldn’t he want to tell me that? I already know."

Sucre had to shrug.

"Like I said, I don’t know all the details. Just that we have to find a way to get T-bag out of here. Without Michael’s help."

Lincoln’s eyes narrowed.

"Without Michael? Why?"

"You saw how he stopped you from clocking him earlier."

Linc appeared to recall it. He cursed under his breath.

"Shit. He really is fucked up. Okay, we’ll do this your way but I’m telling you right now, if I find out that son of a bitch put his hands on my brother, he’ll wish that FBI guy had killed him."

Sucre nodded his understanding. He wished he could do harm to the bastard himself but Mike would never allow it. So there had to be another way.

"Word of warning, I was never the one for the planning," Linc admitted.

"Those genes all went to Mike."

"Hey, you’re talking to the guy who got busted for robbing the same liquor store twice."

Both men laughed.

"The two of us against the genius and the snake," Sucre joked.

"Sure, we got this."

* * *

 

Michael was standing in the kitchen, nursing a glass of iced tea. He could barely drink. His mind was troubled, his head was torn. He took a small sip but didn’t taste it. There was too much to figure out.  
He felt the familiar arms creep around his waist. His body reacted instantly. That warm hand slid down the front of his pants, inside to cup his waking groin. Michael groaned.

"Your brother needs to sleep tonight," that Southern drawl blew against his ear.

He set the glass down, braced both hands on the counter before him.

"He will," he moaned, "he always does."

"No. I mean—" he squeezed him, earning a gasp—"he needs to really be sleep. Like those times with you."

Michael straightened.

"I can’t just do it whenever. There has to be a certain amount of time between—aaah!"

He began to grind into the hand that stroked him. Heat filled him.

"He needs to be asleep, Scofield. Him and Sucre."

Michael was so excited, he was close to cumming already.

"S-Sucre? Why—uuh!"

"Do that for me, Pretty and I’ll make tonight worth your while."

He took Michael just to that point where his balls tensed up...then he left him. Pulling his hand from his pants, his arms from his waist, his heat from his body. Michael actually whimpered.

"Wait!"

He grabbed T-bag’s arm, desperately in need. The older man turned to him, knowing what he would ask.

"Just—just finish."

He pulled that rough Southern hand back into his pants. T-bag glanced down, then back up at him amusedly before pulling out once more.

"I’ll finish when you finish what I told you. Understand?"

He started to turn again but Michael wouldn’t release him. In urgent need he forced the hand back down, rubbing it against his throbbing erection.

"Please," he couldn’t believe he was begging but God he needed it.

"Please just..."

Pre-cum already stained the front of his pants. He didn’t care. All he needed was to be held, to be stroked, to cum against Theodore Bagwell.

"My, are you begging for it, Pretty?"

Mike ignored the smug smile, this was humiliating enough but if he didn’t cum right at that moment he was going to combust. Desperate, Michael pressed his body into T-bag’s and began grinding like crazy.

"Scofield—" Bagwell warned but it was too late. Michael came within seconds, squeezing himself against him as he did.

When his orgasm subsided, he backed away as if the contact scorched him. The humiliation did. T-bag met his gaze, not quite taunting but it stung him just the same. Feeling his face burn, Michael left without a word. God help him, he was an addict. He just couldn’t stop.

Lincoln and Sucre stayed out back for a long time. Had Scofield been in his right mind he’d have noticed. Been concerned. But the poor kid was half crazy. All for him. T-bag couldn’t help but to congratulate himself at his work. Within seven nights he’d taken the great Michael Scofield and reduced him to his simpering sex fiend. He was jonesing for him. Like crack.

Despite all of his book smarts and college learning the Boy Wonder had never quite experienced the truest, deepest joys of sex. It had left him open, susceptible to the sexually gifted. T-bag hated to toot his own horn but he’d been with A LOT of people, male and female. And though quantity by no means made up for quality, there was no way one could have that many sexual partners and not perfect his technique. Not unless he was just plain lazy.

He’d learned a long time ago that sex was power. Once being on the wrong end of that equation, Theodore Bagwell had eventually grown up and taken his rightful place at the top of the sexual food chain. He took what he wanted when he wanted from who he wanted however he wanted it. Sometimes he liked it rough, savage and brutal. Sometimes he liked it the way he was with Pretty. Passionate, possessive. He owned that college boy now. Being his first, he always would.  
After their little kitchen meet Michael had retreated to his room. T-bag allowed it because he knew he’d be back. Sure enough, Michael emerged later in pajama pants and a t-shirt. He went straight to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water before heading into the backyard with Linc and Sucre. Good boy.

The drugs shouldn’t take that long. Once the oafs were down, he would address that Sucre bathroom incident. Pretty would learn not to give away what was his. And Sucre? He’d kill him slow. Maybe cut off his dick first. No. That would unnerve, Pretty. Sucre would just have to disappear another way.

When Michael returned inside he did come to him. But the news wasn’t what Bagwell wanted to hear.

"I couldn’t do it."

He fought the urge to take him by the throat. That was twice he’d disobeyed him now. He’d have to get tougher.

"Michael," a low warning, "I specifically told you that they needed to sleep tonight."

"And they will, just not by those means. I can’t just go dosing people whenever I want to get—" he seemed to catch himself, visibly embarrassed by his admission. He wanted.

T-bag rolled his tongue over his lips.

"That never seemed to stop you before now did it?"

The remark did as he intended. Michael’s wince was visible.

"That’s not what it was about. Linc needed me. I was helping—"

"Keep telling yourself that."

His gray eyes stormed over, confusion, denial, multiple emotions battling. It was so rewarding to see Scofield this way, unhinged by his own doing. T-bag leaned closer to him, his voice barely a whisper.

"I won’t ask again."

He didn’t have to. Whatever they were doing out there must’ve taken some energy because both the Sink and Sucre went straight to their rooms. Suspiciously, Burrows pulled Michael along with him. For the briefest of moments T-bag felt his body flame in jealousy. Had those drugged up moments of incestuous bliss been two-sided after all? The brothers did share a bed.  
But that thought was quickly squashed when he remembered who he was dealing with. T-bag prided himself on reading people and he read nothing of the sort from Burrows. That made it all the more humorous what his baby brother had been doing to him. Clueless bastard.

The clock read a little after 11pm. Everyone should be sleep by 12:30am. That was when he’d fetch his beautiful but disobedient little pet. And teach him to behave.

* * *

 

Michael didn’t object when his brother came behind him and guided him by the back of his neck to their bedroom. Memories of childhood hit him, how sometimes Linc wouldn’t tell him where to go but just moved him there himself. Because he was much bigger than Mike at the time there’d been no choice but to be prodded forward. It had been super annoying. Now it was comforting.

Lincoln didn’t break contact until roughly shoving him to the bed. Michael watched him close the door and turn to him.

"You need to stop blaming yourself," his brother instructed.

Mike raised his eyebrows.

"Blaming myself?"

There was a lot he was to blame for these days but he wondered which transgression Linc spoke of.

"For Fox River. For Sara, for T-bag getting out."

Among other things.

"You forgot Maytag, and the CO—"

"Michael stop!"

Linc came to him, took both his cheeks in his hands as he stared him intently in the eye.

"You listen to me. None of this is your fault! The company set me up. The company killed those people. The company put me on death row. If anybody is to blame it’s them, not you."

Michael was speechless. What had brought this on?

"I need you to know that I don’t blame you for LJ either. The company set that up too. And I know we’ll get him out."  
Lincoln’s gaze never wavered. Its intensity bore into his brother. Another man would’ve been intimidated but Michael knew that it reflected his love for him.

"What exactly did you and Sucre talk about out there?" he asked quietly.

Clearly something said had gotten Lincoln worked up. His big brother released him and stood to his full height.

"You. How we know you blame yourself for everything."

Oh. Then Sucre hadn’t sold him out. Which he’d already known because Linc was with him instead of pummeling T-bag.

"I’m fine. Really."

Lincoln folded his arms under his broad chest.

"You forget the other day when I walked in on you in tears? I’m your brother, Damnit. You can’t lie to me."

Couldn’t he? After all, weren’t secrets just lies of omission?

"But you can talk to me," Lincoln added losing the edge in his tone.

"You know that, right?"

It was like he was twelve all over again. Except now Linc was a better communicator, thank God.

"Yea, I know."

"Then why didn’t you?"

Because I’m being blackmailed for drugging and doing blasphemous things to you on the same bed we sleep on every night. And though I hate the man behind the coercion I love what he does to my body and I just can’t stop.

"What’s there to talk about?" he let go, "We’ve both done things we’re not proud of that brought us here now. No matter how good the intentions."

Lincoln was quiet. His green eyed stare moved from his brother to something on the floor.

"Do you regret it?"

Only one who knew him as well as Michael could catch the tinge of hurt in his voice. Lincoln was not one to make his emotions readily available.

"Not even a little," Mike answered, aware that they were talking about different things yet again.

He wanted to stand, wrap his arms around his brother but Lincoln would probably shake off the display at the moment.

"I’d do anything for you, Linc. No regrets."

* * *

 

The second he entered the room, T-bag knew something was up. Sucre wasn’t dressed for bed for starters. Usually he stripped to jogging pants and clung to his side of the room in contempt of his roommate. As if he’d catch the black death by being near him. Tonight he was sitting awake on his own bed, waiting for him.

"Well, this is going to be an interesting night, isn’t it?" Bagwell asked the brown man glaring his way.  
He was ready, thoughts of disemboweling the chico for the audacity of touching his Pretty. No one touched his Pretty.

Sucre stood, no humor in his features.

"You’re going to leave Michael alone. For good."

A mixture of amusement and downright rage at this spic telling him what he could do with his own property. T-bag felt that familiar twinge of adrenaline just before all of his kills. He was going to enjoy this one.

"Oh yea, _hombre_? Who’s going to stop me? You?"

His lips curved into a smile. God it had been too long since he’d felt a life slip away by his hand. Blood running down his fingers. He wanted it, the rush, the control. The only thing remotely comparable was taking Michael Scofield. Oh he’d fuck him good tonight. Maybe make him bleed a little too for his role in this. But not too much. Didn’t want to damage that perfect package.

"I won’t let you hurt him."

"Hurt him? You can hear us through that wall can’t you? If any hurtin’s going on he’s begging for it," T-bag taunted.

Sucre scrunched his face at that remark. Oh, was that a sore spot?

"What’s wrong, Felipe? Don’t like to hear how I fill his tight hole? How he begs me to—"

"You touch him again and you’ll have me and Lincoln to deal with!"

The Sink? Hmm. Nothing a little pharmaceuticals couldn’t handle if he got in the way.

"And what are you going to tell him, exactly?" he asked.

"You ever hear me forcing him? Hear any complaints? Scofield wants it. He needs it. He begs for it."

Images of Michael earlier in the kitchen snatching his hand and forcing it down his pants, ‘Please just...’

"From me," T-bag added, driving his point home.

Between the thrill of a kill and the memory of Michael, his cock was getting hard. Maybe after he killed Sucre he’d fuck him too.

"You knew he was a virgin. You took advantage of that."

"Is that regret I’m sensing in your tone? You thinking back to those long nights at Fox River, alone with your cellie? Wishing you’d popped that delicious cherry so he could look at you the way he looks at me?"

Sucre nearly came at him. But seemed to think better of it. T-bag read him and chuckled with delight.

"Pretty may have been a virgin to men but you ain’t, are you? That’s what got you so worked up? I remind you of somebody from your past? Maybe somebody that deflowered a certain _hermano_?"

He knew he’d hit something when Sucre’s lip curled into a snarl.

"There’s that fiery Latin temper! Bet he loved that."

This time Sucre took a step closer, his eyes blaring with contempt. He spoke low through clenched teeth.

"You think this hits home? Well yeah it does. Whenever I see someone I care about being mind-fucked I have a problem. Of course you would reduce it to sex. That’s all a rodent like you would know. But Michael isn’t just something to have sex with. Some of us actually care about him as a person and not a piece of ass."

How noble.

"Oh, is this how you’re going to win him over?" T-bag mirrored his step.

"By coming to his aid? Rescuing him from the big bad wolf? You gon’ slay this dragon?"

He could taste the blood. This kill would be delectable. The two men looked each other over, both ready to tear the other apart. The only thing keeping that from happening were the brothers down the hall. Should there be an altercation, both Burrows and Scofield would come running and then nobody would get to kill anybody.  
He would just have to wait to take out the Mexican like he’d originally figured.  
Silence. Glaring. Non-verbal threats.

The stand-off lasted long enough that Bagwell started to grow bored. What was the point of foreplay without the actual fuck? Still eying his roommate, T-bag sauntered over to his own bed and sat. Sucre did the same.

"You planning on watching me all night, _homes_?"

"As long as it takes, _gringo._ "

He’d been right in his assessment. It was definitely going to be a long night.

 


	6. Lincoln

It was after 3am. Lincoln had gone to sleep after their talk, reassured that Michael didn’t regret saving him from frying in that chair. He’d watched his big brother sleeping for an hour before the urges kicked in. He glanced at the door, wondering where T-bag was. He’d usually be in a couple of hours ago. Never later than 1:00.

His body was stirring, expecting his nightly serving of hot passionate fucking. Michael licked his lips in anticipation. T-bag was the last man to pass up anything sexual.

But it was getting later, closer to sunrise and if the sun rose without his visitor then he’d get nothing but a set of blue balls. He groaned in frustration. God he needed it. For a moment he considered going to him, offering himself. T-bag wouldn’t turn him down. But the arrangement specifically stated that they would engage when he, T-bag, said so.  
This was probably some sort of mind game. Or worse, a punishment. Michael remembered the way T-bag had looked at him when Linc had found him and Sucre in the bathroom earlier. There was murder in his eyes.

_"Scofield. That ass is mine now. Don’t you go giving it to nobody else, ya hear?"_

Linc’s misconception of things had gotten to him.

_"Nobody. Else."_

But he’d spoken to him in the kitchen just fine. He’d even touched him. Michael shifted on the bed, fully erect inside his pants. He needed release. Flesh on his flesh, skin on his skin, lips on his lips. If T-bag didn’t come soon he’d have to resort to other methods.

Just to take the edge off, Mike touched himself through his pajama pants. The groan left his lips before he could close them.

Startled, he glanced over at Linc to be sure he hadn’t disturbed him. His brother lie on his back, sound asleep. His bare chest rose and fell at a steady rhythm. He was out. Michael was suddenly hit with a sense of deja vu. So many years ago in Lincoln’s bedroom it had been his older brother’s moan to startle him.

That first night.

Memories of the way Linc had tasted, his moans, the pulse of his cock when he’d cum in his mouth danced across his mind and again Michael began touching himself. He stared at his brother, at his exposed skin and felt the urge to lick it. His lips moved, his tongue slid out and he was heading for a very tempting nipple when Linc shifted to his side.

Again startled back to reality, Michael assessed the gravity of the mess he’d almost made. Linc wasn’t under any influence tonight. He could easily wake up, and God only knew how he would react. The consequences could destroy their relationship forever. Then there was T-bag. What if he did come to the room and find Michael buried in his brother’s chest? Based off his reaction to Sucre earlier in the bathroom, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Fighting the temptation, he threw himself from the bed, away from Lincoln. He didn’t sit until his back was against the wall at the farthest end of the room. God, what was happening to him?

His hard-on ached inside his pants, begging for attention. Begging for the tight grip T-bag had dealt it, jerking it as he’d fucked him hard against the sink the night before. Even his ass muscles clenched in wantonness. He swallowed hard at Lincoln’s turned back, wondering how he would feel inside his ass. Different for sure. His cock was thicker around, more girth. He imagined it stretching him, slamming into him rough and tender at the same time. Linc holding him against him in those strong arms of his.

Grunting. Groaning. Panting down the back of his neck.

Something in him broke. The next thing Michael knew he’d seized the hamper in the corner, snatched out his brother’s discarded t-shirt from the day and buried his face in it. Lincoln’s scent filled him. Desperate, he yanked his pants and boxers down, grabbed his cock and began jerking himself. He moaned into his brother’s garment, muffling his excitement and surrounding him at the same time. His eyes closed and all he saw was Lincoln.

He pulled his face away only long enough to spit into his hand for moisture then he was back to his actions. His moans deepened, his body tensed and not too long after he was cumming so hard his voice strangled in his throat. His hips bucked into his fist and his jizz shot out into the darkness. Hot tears fled his eyes as he climaxed, jerking with each thrilling pulse. He felt like he’d emptied his entire sack.

Afterward he didn’t have the strength to get up so he sat there, absently inhaling Linc’s shirt. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His role was to comfort him, ease Linc’s stress so that he could continue on. But this had nothing to do with Lincoln’s stress. It hadn’t been selfless. On the contrary, it had been all about Michael and his dirty desires. Since when had he fantasized about being fucked by his own brother?  
He was too tired to feel shame so he settled for exhaustion. He knew he should turn on the light and find where his cum had landed but his entire body was a bag of mush. He’d have to do it later. Before Linc woke.

Lincoln.

He stared at his big brother’s sleeping back. Broad and masculine, completely unaware of his sick desires. Desires that, until recently he’d never dreamed he’d had. Even sucking his unconscious brother off hadn’t...

_I know a thing or two about sucking cock and it ain’t never been selfless. You enjoy it, Scofield. Last night you got off just as much as he did. Even more I bet._

That had never been his intention. But even still, he’d never imagined Lincoln’s hard shaft ramming up his ass to get off. Not until tonight. Not until his sexual awakening. Not until T-bag. The Alabamian had stirred something in him he feared he couldn’t tame.

Fighting his body’s protests to just stay down, Michael climbed to his feet and adjusted his clothes. Then he turned on the light.  
Allowing his logic to take over, he measured the trajectory of his seated position and angle of his cock during climax to determine the most probable location where his semen could’ve landed. He solved the puzzle easily and wiped it all up with a towel from the hamper, including the stray shots that hadn’t made it as far. The lights went back out.

Sated, he tossed off his pj bottoms and climbed in bed. From this angle it wasn’t his back but Linc’s face in his view. He stared at his brother once more, admiring every angle, every line, everything that made him Lincoln. He must take after their absent father’s side, square jaw, rugged features, because Michael was the spitting image of their mother. Hence the prison moniker Pretty.

He brushed his finger tips against Linc’s lips, traced them affectionately. They’d kissed his forehead as a child when he’d needed comfort. But they’d never kissed his lips. His fingers trailed up his jawline, feeling the stubble as Linc had started to grow a beard since they’d been on the run. It made his face less recognizable to the public. Mike liked it either way.

Suddenly Lincoln twitched and Michael had barely a second to move his hand before Linc’s came smacking the spot he’d touched. The impact caused a loud slap and his brother grunted.

"Fucking flies."

He turned on his back and was right back asleep. Michael had to stifle a laugh. He waited a little while, until he was sure his brother was deep in his sleep before he scooted closer to snuggle against him. The warmth of his body radiated into Mike’s.

He could lay like this forever.

He nestled his nose into the crook of Linc’s neck and closed his eyes. It was the most peaceful sleep he’d had since before Fox River.

* * *

 

As usual, Lincoln was the last to wake in the morning. Michael was already out of bed as was every other felon in the apartment. After a quick trip to drain the lizard he went out to the dining area where he smelled breakfast. That was when everything got weird.

Sucre and T-bag were having a stare-down over uneaten plates of bacon and eggs. Both men looked haggard like they hadn’t slept a wink. They also looked lethal as if at any second either party would jump across the table and rip the other’s face off.  
Michael sat between them, his palms pressed against his temples. The tension was damn near suffocating.

"The fuck is wrong with everybody?" he demanded to know.

Only Michael looked up.

"Hi Linc."

He didn’t want to show that he was stressed. But Lincoln knew his baby brother. And in the second before he’d seen him standing there Mike’s posture had given it away. Now that he was aware of Linc’s presence he’d shifted.  
Still watching the room, Lincoln made his way over to the table, grabbed a strip of bacon from Michael’s plate and began eating it.

"I repeat: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH EVERYBODY?"

He didn’t expect a straight answer out of Michael so he held up a hand when he opened his mouth.

"Sucre?"

"Nerves," the Puerto Rican replied.

"He’s getting on mine."

Linc looked to T-bag.

"Your problem?"

"Property dispute. Once again the _hombre_ proves that his people can’t keep their hands off what doesn’t belong to them."  
Sucre leaned in.

"Once again the _gringo_ proves that he can’t tell the difference between what’s his and what isn’t."

T-bag sneered and Sucre returned the favor.

"I take it this isn’t about another t-shirt turned cum towel," Linc couldn’t help but to joke.

He saw T-bag’s lip curve upward.

"Well now that you mention it—"

"All right everybody back to their corners!" Michael went off surprising all parties present.

He was the last person to lose his cool. Linc was the hothead in the family.

"Sucre, you take a walk to Linc and my room. T-bag, you have your room. Linc, I need you in the kitchen for a minute."

Nobody moved, stunned. Michael looked around at the three of them, his gray eyes past their limit.

"Let’s go, let’s go!"

Sucre was the first to move, followed by Bagwell. Both seemed too surprised to argue. On his way, Bagwell turned back to smirk at Michael. Linc didn’t like the look so he blocked his line of vision as a warning.

He waited for both doors to slam down the hall before he turned to Michael.

"I feel like I’m totally missing something here."

Michael headed to the kitchen without a word. Lincoln followed him, the suspicion growing.

"You want to clue me in?"

His brother leaned against the sink, and exhaled loudly.

"They’ve been at it all morning. Roommate drama. You really don’t want to know."

But it wasn’t the roommates that he was concerned about.

"No, Mike, I mean with you."

"Me?"

His baby brother was good at hiding things. Lincoln had to admit even he’d been fooled many a time. But ultimately he knew him. He’d always find out. Michael was wearing a feigned look of surprise, as if he’d been accused of smoking dope or something totally out of his character.

"Don’t bullshit me, I’m your brother. Something’s up with you."

Michael tried to dismiss his question.

"Well, you know I’m a little preoccupied with trying to break my nephew out of jail while keeping us from going back in. Maybe that’s what you’re sensing."

That sure of himself tone, on anyone else it might be condescending but with Michael he knew better. It was a defense mechanism, to shut down a conversation that he wasn’t interested in having. Often the other party would take his word, feeling outsmarted. Michael’s intellect could be pretty intimidating. Or they’d get pissed and start a fight, forgetting the conversation altogether. It had irritated the shit out of Lincoln growing up. Kind of still did.

Using that, he stalked up to his brother, earning a curious expression as he cornered him against the sink. He set his arms on either side, locking him in. Michael blinked for a second, and he could see him assessing the situation. Both knew he wouldn’t be able to just knock Lincoln away. Mike was no punk when it came to a fight, Linc had been sure to teach him that much, but he could never overpower his big brother. Few people could.

"You’re going to tell me what’s really going on with you," he demanded.

"No more lies, no more half-truths. No more Sucre as the middle man. Now what the fuck is going on Michael?"

Mike looked down at Linc’s arms blocking his way and sighed.

"Like I told you, I’m just—."

Linc lost his patience. There were many things, that pissed him off, one of which was being lied to. Especially when that lie hindered his ability to protect the ones he loved. He loved his brother more than his own life and if something was ailing him, Linc wanted to know so that he could kick that something’s ass. Why couldn’t Mike understand that?

He snatched him by his shirt, drawing their faces barely an inch apart.

"What are you hiding Michael?"

He searched his brother’s eyes for an answer. He’d employed this method when Mike was a kid and needed straightening out. It had always worked then. Nervous gray eyes stared back at him.  
Since when did he make his brother nervous?

Michael seemed to read Linc reading him and the nerves intensified. Abruptly he tried to push him away.

"Get off me, Linc."

"Not til you tell me what’s wrong."

Michael gave a hard shove.

"I mean it, back off!"

He was much stronger than he used to be, as a full grown man now. They struggled back and forth until Lincoln swung his brother over to the wall and pinned him.

"Talk to me, Michael!"

His baby brother’s eyes went wild, and he began to fight harder.

"Let me go!"

It wasn’t the first time they’d fought, being brothers, but it had been a long time. Linc focused on subduing him, all he wanted was the truth. Michael on the other hand was going crazy. Pushing, shoving frantically. Lincoln was just about to shake the living shit out of him when his baby brother cold cocked him clean in the jaw.

Linc stumbled back, stunned. Had his brother really just hit him?

Mike seized the opportunity to flee the scene, disappearing down the hall to the one vacant room left in the apartment. He heard the door slam and turned in that direction.  
Now he knew something strange was going on. Spitting blood on the floor he stormed after his brother, determined to get to the bottom of all of the weird shit of the day.

"Michael!"

Sucre and T-bag were already in the hall, with inquisitive expressions. Lincoln had no time for their shit.

"Mind you’re fucking business!" he threatened and even T-bag knew not to try him.

Lincoln stood outside the bathroom door and began to pound.

"Michael!"

No answer.

"Goddammit Michael if you don’t open this door!"

He would kick it the fuck in.

"MICHAEL!!!"

What had him so worked up that he’d hit him like that? None of this made any sense. Frustration compiled with confusion. He’d never been a fan of either emotion. Lincoln stepped back and prepared to ram his foot into the door so help him when his brother finally spoke.

"Just leave me alone. Please."

He wasn’t yelling, not like he had in the kitchen but there was something to his voice that stopped Lincoln in his tracks. Maybe it was the "please."

He stared at the door for a good minute, unsure of what to do. He wanted to know Michael’s problem, get to the bottom of it and fix it. That was what big brothers did. What they were supposed to do anyway. He used to be so good at it.

Then somewhere along the line it seemed Michael was the one fixing his screw-ups. Bailing him out of jail, driving across town to let him in his own apartment because he was too plastered to find his house keys. Breaking him out of prison because he’d been dumb enough to walk into the Company’s set-up. Even now, who was coming up with the plan to rescue LJ—his son?

"Fuck!"

He punched the wall, ignoring the pain in his fist, the white dust as he broke into the plaster. He needed an outlet. A fucking drink or something. To take the edge off. Without an explanation he stormed off, out the back door toward wherever the liquor was.


	7. Marking Territory

Michael’s cock was so hard he thought it would rip through his pants. From the moment Linc had cornered him by the sink his body had begun to stir. He’d tried not to imagine his brother leaning in to kiss him, his lips so close as Lincoln had demanded answers. God, he’d felt his heat, literally felt it rising from his naked chest. More than anything Mike had wanted to place his palms on his skin, knead it beneath his fingers. Thumb those delicious dark nipples.

He already knew the sounds Linc would make.

When he’d grabbed Michael by the shirt that was when his senses had gone into overdrive. Linc’s breath had washed over him and he’d wanted to suck it all in. As his lips demanded Mike wanted to trace them with his tongue. Then his brother had to stare into his eyes and the fear of being discovered had killed the moment. That was when he’d tried to push him off. But he’d never been stronger than his brother. Not even today.

The struggle that ensued just added more heat to the fire. Lincoln’s bare torso, his raw strength, their bodies touching and finally when Linc had pinned him to the wall—it was a wrap. Michael had developed a raging boner. Panicked at the prospect of his brother noticing it, he’d gone into fight mode. He’d had to get Linc off of him before he realized he wanted Linc in him. So he’d punched him. A good hard one too, Michael’s knuckles still throbbed. As did his hungry cock.

"Goddammit Michael if you don’t open this door!" Linc was outside yelling.

Michael sank down against the wall, buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t let Lincoln see him like this, couldn’t let him know that he aroused him. Know that he was so sick and perverted. He’d lose him forever. That note of desperation slipped into his plea when he called to him.

"Just leave me alone. Please."

There was a brief silence on the other side. Then Linc’s exclamation and he heard him storm off, the back door slamming behind him. Was he leaving?

Knowing his brother he would look for some type of fix to take the edge off. Given their current fugitive status that might be a problem. Shit! Michael jumped up from the floor and rushed the door just as he heard Sucre outside.

"Don’t worry, _Papi_. I’ll take care of him."

And his footsteps retreated, after Lincoln. A sigh of relief, one crisis averted. Hopefully Sucre could handle him. They’d seemed to get on well in the backyard yesterday. And Sucre had a habit of coming through for Michael.  
He ran his hand down his face both mentally and sexually frustrated. Well, one problem at a time. Michael finally opened the bathroom door to find the solution for his second problem standing in front of him.

T-bag rolled his tongue over his lips and started to speak when Michael pounced on him. Tugging at his shirt, loosening his pants, grinding against him as his tongue tore into his mouth.

"I needed you last night," he breathed as he shed his own pants and boxers in one motion.

Bagwell tossed his shirt over his head, pleased with Michael’s enthusiasm he was sure. They kissed passionately as Michael pulled T-bag’s pants down to his thighs. His cock was already awake.

"Fuck me, Teddy."

Their bare erections grinded together, neither bothering to hold back their groans. T-bag took his arms forcefully and spun them around so that Michael’s back was to the wall.

"The bed," he commanded.

Still entangled they lifted from the wall and started left. When Michael slowed down by T-bag and Sucre’s room, Bagwell pulled him along past it.

"No, not that bed."

He didn’t have the presence of mind to care why T-bag was being so picky this morning. He just wanted him inside him. When they made it to Michael and Linc’s room they were both fully naked. Michael didn’t mind being shoved to the bed, his legs spread and ready. T-bag stood over him, his brown eyes ablaze with lust. There was a darkness there too, one that would’ve scared Mike just a week ago but now he invited it. As long as he fucked him hard.

"Suck me like you suck him," he ordered.

Michael sat up, took him by the waist and swallowed his cock to the base.

Bagwell grunted loud and like the first time dug his nails into Michael’s scalp. He allowed him to saturate his hardness in saliva before shoving Michael back down. The next thing he knew, he was being thrown over onto his stomach. T-bag climbed on the bed behind him and jammed his fingers roughly into Mike’s mouth.

"Suck."

Eager to be penetrated, he obliged. Once they were good and wet, T-bag pulled them out. Then, without care at all, he rammed them into Michael’s ass.

"Ow, fuck!"

He began to prepare him just as harshly.

"Teddy what—"

"You like to be disobedient, huh Pretty?"

It hurt but he didn’t want him to stop.

"I told you no one touches you but me. Not that spic Sucre. And not your big dumb brother either!"

He finished his sentence by shoving his cock deep into Michael’s ass at once. Mike screamed, pleasure and pain filling him. T-bag began to move, his strokes angry and punishing. His good hand ran up Michael’s back to his neck. He yanked him up so that Michael was against his belly and wrapped his fingers around his throat.

"You’re mine, you understand?"

His other arm held him steady.

"Who the fuck do you belong to?"

Michael couldn’t breathe. He felt his prostate prodded with vehemence and couldn’t help jerking his leaking prick.

"Say my fucking name Scofield!"

But he couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, could only feel the agonizing ecstasy of this brutal intercourse. He tried to make a sound but with no air coming in there was nothing. His body hit its limit and suddenly he was spurting all over the bed. Michael’s eyes crossed in orgasm. He could hear T-bag’s breathing scatter as his ass clenched in spasms around his thrusting cock. Bagwell growled before shoving his face down.

In the sheets, a familiar scent hit him.

This was Lincoln’s spot. Where Lincoln slept. His musk coated it. Michael breathed in deep as his ass was pummeled by the man he’d not too long ago considered a true enemy. This same man who may not be his friend but he thought he may actually care for.

"Teddy...God!"

Lincoln!

His prick was already rising for a second go. Michael clenched his fists in the sheets, dying at the power of his pleasure. He wasn’t sure if he could survive like this, if his chest wouldn’t explode from his heart beat. At least he would go in a fit of satisfaction.

T-bag flattened himself on top of him, still thrusting as his mouth found Michael’s shoulder. He was grunting, the sound of his voice so close, so rapt fueling Michael further. He wanted to hear that voice break. To lose control as he’d done. So he timed a muscle clench at just the right moment. His partner breathed out a hiss.  
Michael turned his face to the side for easy access.

"Kiss me, Teddy," he urged.

Another clench. A groan. Knowing T-bag he would want to be the one to initiate. He liked to believe he was running things. Clearly he had been this entire time. But Michael was fully awakened now. He would control this.

"Please."

He responded to the plea just as Mike knew he would and their mouths connected. The kiss was greedy, urgent, courtesy of both men. Michael let him lead as he liked to do, lulling him into a false sense of dominance. Then he clenched his ass again. Felt the quiver in the man on top of him.

This was going to be fun.

He breathed his name again, knowing that was what he liked. This time when he clenched his muscles he did so in a timed rhythm. Giving his partner just enough time to lose and gain himself before losing it again. It was working.

"Yours," he whispered because possession was another key point for his lover.

"All yours, Teddy."

Clench. Hold. Release.

That did it. Michael could feel him tensing up before T-bag rent the air with a cross between a groan and a curse, something new out of his mouth. His seed spilled inside Michael and his arms squeezed him hard enough that Mike was sure he’d leave a bruise. It was the longest, hardest orgasm between them.

Michael milked it, still massaging him through the aftershocks until finally T-bag had to hiss for him to stop.  
The two of them lie there for a while, breathing heavy, absorbing the high. Michael was hard again, aching to poke something but he would be patient. One thing he was sure of was that fucking T-bag was not a two-way street. There would only be one partner to allow penetration of any kind. Given Bagwell’s childhood history, he understood. As long as he fucked him like he’d been doing, Michael would be okay with it.

"God...damn." T-bag still held him though his body was jelly.

Michael smiled as he felt the kisses to his back.

"You learn your lesson?"

His Southern drawl was laden with the satisfaction of a good fuck. All a part of his package, it was making Michael hotter.

"I never touched Sucre," he remarked.

"But you know that."

In response T-bag kissed his neck.

"He won’t let this go."

"I’ll handle him," Michael assured him.

Bagwell’s grip tightened possessively.

"I don’t share."

"You won’t have to."

"Just to be clear."

They were quiet for a moment, still settling when Michael made the realization.

"Why did you want to fuck me on this bed?"

T-bag chuckled into his back.

"Why wouldn’t I? Seems like we only ever get to it in the bathroom. A man likes to be comfortable sometimes."

But that wasn’t it.

"You passed up your bed, even Sucre’s earlier. Why this bed? All the way in here?"

Instead of answering, his lover rolled onto his back. Michael turned on his side so that he faced him.

"It’s because of Lincoln, isn’t it?"

A smirk from T-bag’s lips.

"You wanted me on his bed."

Michael was annoyed at that. More annoyed that he’d unknowingly partaken in the act of sheer pettiness.

"A man has to mark his territory, Pretty."

Michael started to make a smart retort when he caught T-bag’s eyes wandering down his body. His wicked brown pupils settled between his legs.

"Speaking of which..."

He took Michael’s erection in hand and stroked him casually. Mike stared down at it, and became lost in how good it felt to be jerked by this man. He bit his kiss-swelled lips and groaned his excitement as those fingers formed a fist around him and pumped his cock away. The second time he came it poured over Bagwell’s legs and waist. Thick white globs landed in his pubes, gracing his prick as well. He didn’t stop pumping until Michael had shot his last drop.

Once he released him, Mike couldn’t help but to scoot closer. He draped a leg over him, not caring about his cum trails.

"So, it’s safe to say we don’t hate each other anymore," he managed after catching his breath.

T-bag’s arm was around him, his fingertips stroking up and down Michael’s shoulder.

"I stopped hating you the second I knew I could have you."

Michael chewed on that, saw the logic considering the way T-bag’s mind operated. As far as he himself went, he knew that he hated the things his lover had done in the past but he could never hate him again. Exactly how he felt about him was something he still had to sort out. It was more than a fondness, not love of course, but he found himself sincerely caring for him. That was a leap from before.

"I don’t want to leave this spot," Michael confessed.

"Then don’t."

Tempting thought but Lincoln and Sucre hadn’t exactly given them a set time of return. He and T-bag couldn’t be found like this.

"You and I both know how that would end up."

Bloody. Very, very bloody. T-bag looked at him.

"There poses an interesting question," he sounded poetic with his accent.

"What are we going to do about your brother?"

Linc was the only one who didn’t know about the two of them. And thank God he didn’t! If Sucre had taken it badly, his brother’s reaction would be catastrophic. Linc wouldn’t take the time to hear an explanation. He’d go straight for Bagwell’s life.

"He doesn’t have to know."

It was cowardice but with Lincoln there was no other choice. He couldn’t let Linc hurt him. And if T-bag ever hurt Linc...

"How do you know your little burrito-eating friend isn’t telling him right now?"

Michael shook his head. He wished he’d stop the racist insults but given Bagwell’s jealousy he thought it not wise to speak up right now.

"Sucre wouldn’t betray my trust."

T-bag’s eyes darkened.

"Well he’s just your shining brown knight isn’t he?"

Michael ignored the quip and tried to regain focus.

"Linc will be fine as long as he doesn’t know and Sucre won’t say anything unless I give the word so we’re good. But we’d better get this mess cleaned up before they get back."

He hated to try to explain to his brother why their sheets were covered in cum. Talk about awkward.  
T-bag watched him, not offering to help but neither did he discourage him. Michael gave him a nudge in an attempt to collect the sheet under him. When that didn’t rouse him, he tried again.

"Come on. Playtime’s over."

Mischievous brown eyes met gray. The next thing he knew he was being yanked back down on top of him. Bagwell took his mouth with ownership, again staking his claim. He didn’t release him until Michael opened his mouth, allowing his older, more experienced tongue in, thus submitting to the declaration.

"How many times do I have to remind you, Pretty? It ain’t over until I say it’s over."

They were still gathering up the sheets when he heard the front door. T-bag broke into a sly smile just as Michael sprung into action.

"In the closet, now!"

He shoved Bagwell into his and Linc’s closet before kicking the wadded up sheet under the bed. Remembering his nakedness, he grabbed some sweats from the drawer and stepped out into the hallway in time to crash into his brother.

Lincoln wreaked of liquor.

"Hey," his brother offered a drunken half-smile.

It was his apology for going off earlier. Some things never changed.

"Hey Linc."

He had to get him away from the room so that T-bag could leave. "You hungry? We got some of those flaming Cheetos you like." He took Lincoln’s shoulders and guided him back toward the living area. Sucre was securing the door when they walked up. He turned around, nodded to Linc but his eyes stopped on Michael. Noting the lack of clothing, the sheen on his tattooed torso, the tell-tale dick print in his sweats announcing that he was commando underneath. Michael saw the evaluation on his face and shook his head to signal not to bring it up in front of Lincoln.

"Here, there’s a game on," Michael flipped on the TV, and guided his brother down on the couch.

"I’ll go grab you some snacks."

He handed him the remote and went to the kitchen. Sucre was literally on his heels.

"You fucked him again?! Seriously?"

Michael whirled around, his eyes warning discretion. He shot a quick glance in Lincoln’s direction but his brother was into the tv.

"Say that a little louder, Sucre. I don’t think they heard you in China."

His friend was too riled up to care.

"I knew I shouldn’t have left you here. Not with that son of a bruja!"

He clapped his hands on both of Michael’s shoulders firmly.

"Listen, we’re going to get you out of this, okay Papi. Whatever it takes. I won’t let him touch you again."

It was bad enough with Linc but Sucre wanted to play protector too. Michael needed to put this fire out before T-bag tried. He knew his lover’s method wouldn’t be too kind. Carefully, Mike rested his hands on top of Sucre’s. He met his Latin brown eyes.

"That’s really not up to you," he stated calmly.

His friend stared in disbelief.

"What?"

"The decision is mine to make," Mike reiterated.

"In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a child here. I’m perfectly capable of choosing who I will and will not have sex with.

Whether they meet your approval or not."

He wasn’t being snarky, just stating the facts.

"And you approve of him?" Sucre countered.

"Michael he rapes people. I know you’re not okay with that."

_"Tell me. How many times have you mouth-raped your brother?"_

Michael shuddered at the memory.

"You weren’t okay with him trying it on Tweener. You stopped him, remember?"

He did remember. But Fox River was over and done with.

"I know his past. But that doesn’t negate the fact that it’s still my decision whether or not to sleep with him."

He kept his gaze steady, sure to communicate that he was serious. Sucre stared back, just as stubbornly.

"Look, Michael, I get it," he finally sighed.

"An older man comes along, makes your body feel new things, amazing things that you never thought possible. You love it, you crave more. Inside you know it’s not right but the more he touches you the more you need his touch. The more you need him."  
Michael swallowed, knowing too well what he spoke of.

"We’re all susceptible as it is but for your first time? To be with someone THAT much more experienced. That deviant and cunning? He took your virginity, meijo because he knew what that would do to you. You never stood a chance."  
Michael felt himself waver again, a knot of apprehension growing in his throat. The logical part of his brain said that it made sense, that T-bag would employ such tactics but the other part just didn’t care. Despite his mistrust and their turbulent history, he’d developed feelings for the man. He would never be able to walk away.

"It shouldn’t have been like this for you," Sucre’s hand released his pressure from Mike’s shoulders.

"You deserve better."

Michael stared, curious about the comment.

"Sucre?"

His Latin friend shook it off.

"Guys like T-bag will use you up and when they’re done ‘breaking in’ their new toy, they’ll move on to the next," he warned.  
"Only we all know he’s not going to find another Michael Scofield. There will be other pretty faces but not another you. He definitely knows that so he’s going to keep you around until he’s sucked all of the life—all of the purity—all of the goodness out of you. Then when there’s nothing left he still won’t let you go. Not until you’re dead in the ground. Most likely by his hand."

Hearing his words, Michael almost scoffed at his description of him. Purity? Goodness? Please.

"I hate to disappoint you, but there hasn’t been a pure bone in my body for a long time," he half joked.  
If there had been it was long destroyed in Fox River.

He was slightly startled when Sucre suddenly cupped him by the sides of his face. His brown eyes were intense as he spoke.

" _Papi_ , you are the purest heart I ever met. Most men from your background—dead mom, no dad, foster homes, felon for a brother—would be the hardest most cynical bastards out there. But you? You kept this humanity inside you. This caring. During the riot, you stood up to T-bag for that CO’s life. When Westmoreland died, you sincerely mourned. When we heard about Abruzzi, Tweener, Haywire and C-Note, I saw the way it affected you. And don’t get me started on what you did for your brother. Michael, you have a soul. It was something so rare in Fox River, hell even out in the real world."

They were silent for a moment, marinating on Sucre’s words. Then he added.

"You deserved better Michael. For your first time. You deserved someone who would care."

Gray eyes searched brown for a moment, trying to get a read on what exactly he was communicating. Sucre allowed it, not pulling back from Michael’s scrutinizing gaze. They remained that way, engrossed in each other’s eyes until finally Michael broke the silence.

"I’d better get Lincoln’s snacks."

Sucre didn’t release him, instead letting his thumb glide down to caress the curve of Michael’s bottom lip. This was a dangerous game. Warily, Mike took his friend’s hands into his, removed them from his face to place them at Sucre’s sides. Safely away from him.

"That sounds like a good idea."

Michael instinctively flinched as T-bag stood in the doorway. He wasn’t sure of how much he’d seen but he’d certainly seen the touch of his lip. Sucre slowly turned, as if in no rush to move his eyes away from Michael. T-bag met his challenge and with the grace of a panther stalking its prey, sauntered into the room.  
He took his place beside Michael, and with his eyes still on Sucre spun Michael by the waist to crash into his front. Caught off guard, Michael nearly lost his footing. In that second T-bag ravaged his mouth with a hard, possessive kiss.

"Hey!"

Agitated at yet another attempt to use him against someone he cared for, Michael pushed him off before righting himself.

"Enough," he snapped, catching his breath.

But the damage had been done. Because both men’s eyes suddenly landed at the front of Michael’s sweats, noting the already semi-erect state that just one quick kiss from Bagwell had produced. Michael cursed and shielded it with his hands. T-bag smirked, pleased with himself.

Sucre looked ready to rip Bagwell’s head off.

"This is what you want?" he addressed Michael.

"A man that regards you as property to toy with in front of people? This what gets you off?"

Michael opened his mouth to speak but the only thing he could think to say was, "It’s complicated."

His cock was still rising, tasting T-bag on his lips. His hands couldn’t hide it any longer. Damn the effect he had on him!

"Complicated," Sucre noticed it too.

"Right."

He shook his head, a litany of emotions visible on his face. Above all was anger, no fury. Then a disappointment maybe. And concern. He was still worried for Michael.

"I’m sure it was complicated for Seth too. And Maytag, and those sixth graders back in Alabama—"

T-bag stepped lethally forward, the smirk replaced by his kill face.

"Watch it Wetback—"

"—who are all DEAD now, Michael."

T-bag slid a hand toward his back. As if to pull something out. Looking to avoid an altercation, Michael stepped between the two. He faced his best friend knowing that the only way to save his life at the moment was to drive him away.  
"Be that as it may," he said quietly, "It’s still my decision to make. And I’ve made it."

He would never forget the look of disgust Sucre threw directly at him. It was like he was T-bag himself.

"Fine, you want to get fucked up the ass by this inbred piece of shit, it’s your problem. I wash my hands of you. But your brother out there—" he gestured toward the living area—"He isn’t as oblivious as you think. When he figures out the shit you’re pulling you’re going to have to make a decision, Papi. And you better make the right one or there’s going to be bloodshed."  
Michael watched Sucre storm out of the kitchen, feeling his chest knot in regret. He wished he could’ve avoided hurting him. More than anything he wished he could’ve avoided that look. It stung deep. He might never regain his friendship.

"You said something about snacks?"

He turned around to face the man indirectly responsible for this new turmoil in his life. Indirectly because it had been Michael’s actions after all that had brought him the opportunity. This man who, with one touch, one caress, one stroke could turn him into a hapless pile of hormones.

"You didn’t have to do that," he scolded him.

T-bag responded with a feigned innocent expression.

"Do what?"

Annoyed, Michael pushed past him to grab the bag of Cheetos. Before he knew it Bagwell’s arms were around his waist, pulling his backside into him.

"You mean, do this?" he groped Michael’s erection firmly through his pants.

Michael released a gasp and a groan rolled into one.

"Stop," he ordered, but his body begged the opposite.

"Lincoln is right out there."

"So?"

"So if he sees—"

"I ain’t afraid of your brother."

He should be.

Michael grabbed the counter to steady himself. His willpower was mush but after Sucre’s warning and the thought of Lincoln—drunk Lincoln—walking in on them was enough for him to pull away. He made it out of his lover’s reach, his breathing quickened.

"I can’t have you two fighting," he remarked seriously.

"One of you would get hurt and I’m not okay with that."

Linc would go berserk. T-bag would definitely fight dirty. No way a weapon wouldn’t be involved. Just as Sucre said; blood would be shed.

Speaking of a weapon.

"What were you about to pull on Sucre just now?"

Mischievous brown eyes stared back at him.

"You can’t kill him, Teddy."

He rolled his tongue.

"Call me that again, you know what it does to me."

The only thing that kept Michael from doing so was the very real threat of harm upon his friend.

"I’m serious. Don’t hurt him."

"Well then it’s best he keep his hands to himself from now on."

That dark, malicious glare. A warning.

"Like I told you. I don’t share."

Their conversation was interrupted by Lincoln’s drunken demand, "Hey where’s my damn snacks?"

Without another word Michael went to him, feeling T-bag’s eyes burning through him as he left the kitchen.

He made sure to stay at the back of the couch when he passed Linc his goodies, at least until he could get his dick down. The thought of what T-bag would do to Sucre was sobering enough that he’d died down to half mass but he still had a ways to go. He watched his brother tear into the bag, pondering the warning he’d just gotten. T-bag hadn’t only been talking about Sucre when he’d mentioned sharing. It was clear in the way he’d needed to "mark his territory" on Lincoln’s bed. He considered him competition too.

That meant that Linc’s life was also in danger.

This had gotten way out of hand.

"You’ll need to drink some water," he murmured before slipping back into the kitchen for a bottle.

T-bag was already drinking one, leaning against the counter. He winked at Michael and continued to watch him without another word. Once back in the living area, Mike was pleased to note that he’d lost his hard-on. Worrying for his brother’s life was the ultimate boner killer.

"Here, drink."

He handed Linc the bottled water and sat next to him. Memories of before Fox River, before actual jail-time (when juvie was the worst Linc had faced) enveloped Michael and he felt comfort in them. When he was still in his preteens, Linc a little buzzed or a little high, relaxing in front of the TV with him. It hadn’t mattered to Michael what they watched. He’d just been glad to have his brother.

He turned to Lincoln, observed him a moment. Sucre was right. He wouldn’t be in the dark forever. If Mike didn’t get a handle on this soon something bad was going to happen. To Sucre or T-bag or God forbid to Linc. He couldn’t bear the thought of any of them getting hurt. He had to formulate a plan.


	8. Sucre's Proposal

It was Fox River all over again. Rooming with a guy that wanted to end him. Sucre had lucked out with Michael but before him he’d seen a few sketchy cellmates. Now it was T-bag, who slept across the room in the twin bed the home’s previous occupant had gotten for their two children. Boys by the look of the room. Just his roommate’s flavor.

When Bagwell sauntered in maybe an hour or so after the kitchen incident he’d thought it would take everything not to maul the redneck. But Sucre collected himself. He had to if he expected his and Linc’s plan to work.

 _“Everything my brother does," Linc had told him that night, "he does out of love. Breaking me out, saving Sara, it’s his weakness and strength_. _"_

Sucre had discovered that yes Michael’s love for his brother was the key to freeing him from T-bag. If his instinct to protect Lincoln was stronger than his compulsion to be under T-bag (which Sucre was sure it was) then they could break him. Lincoln of course wasn’t aware of that particular detail. Only that Michael would be forced to choose between the two that cared for him and the snake that had latched on.

If Linc had his way they’d have just beat the crap out of Bagwell and left him in the street to be found by cops. Possibly call in the tip themselves. But Sucre had talked him out of that one on account of Michael’s emotional state. Tonight he kind of wished he hadn’t.

Bagwell said nothing to him, just glanced his way with that satisfied smirk and undressed. When he climbed in bed he chuckled lightly to himself before turning his back to Sucre to fall asleep. As if he were no longer a threat.

_Puta._

He thought back to Michael in the kitchen, those penetrating gray eyes.

The curiosity when Sucre’s thumb had brushed his lips. He hoped he hadn’t opened a can of worms with that one. But he had meant what he’d said. Michael did deserve better. Better than what he’d had.

Sucre’s mind played back to his early teens, when his cousin Ernesto had stayed with the family briefly. He’d been much older, much cooler than any of his other cousins. He’d also been more hands-on. Sucre had discovered much about his own body, and the body of another those few months.

Being so young—so new to his hormones, hadn’t helped and he’d found himself completely under the spell of the older man. Even now his cock threatened to harden at the memories. He’d never been into men but that particular man had been ALL the way into him physically. And the young boy had reveled in it. Come to need it. Then when his cousin was finished, he’d simply moved on. Sucre would learn later that Ernesto had a habit of getting too close with the younger cousins. Fernando hadn’t been the first or the last.

He hadn’t touched a man ever since. Not even when the most beautiful man to grace Fox River had shown up as his cellmate.

He wasn’t into guys...

But maybe if he’d made an exception for Michael Scofield, his best friend wouldn’t be so twisted up right now.  
He regretted the way he’d treated him earlier. It wasn’t really Michael’s fault. He was caught up, his body held captive by one who obviously knew what he was doing. T-bag had been fucking since childhood according to word on the cellblock. By now he must have a certain level of expertise.

What Michael needed was someone who could rock his world just as hard as his current partner. Someone to break his association between Bagwell and mind-blowing orgasms. To give him something that Bagwell would not.  
He recalled the possessive way T-bag had held Michael, the dominant in their "relationship" obviously his role. Bagwell was not the submissive or even compromising type. He clearly thought he owned Michael now.

Maybe he’d go down on him maybe not but one thing Sucre could be sure of was that he’d never let Michael fuck him in his ass. T-bag bottomed for no one.

Could that be it?

Sucre furrowed his brow in thought. If sexual gratification was what his friend craved then sexual gratification was what he’d get. Ernesto had shown him a thing or two. Things with his hips that a gringo from Alabama certainly wouldn’t be able to pull off. Things in the art of giving and receiving.

Just like that, it was decided. He would go to his friend, give himself to him. Allow him to touch and fuck him any way he wanted. It had been years since anyone entered his ass but he needed to help Michael in any way he could.  
He ignored the way his cock jumped at the thought, now coming to life. He glanced over at his roommate, pretty sure he was still awake.

 _I won’t let you hurt him_ , he thought determinedly.

_I won’t let you have him!_

* * *

 

Michael sat awake on the couch, his eyes missing the blank TV screen as they stared into nothing. His drunk brother was passed out, lying across the cushions, his head in Michael’s lap. Absently Michael stroked his nearly bare scalp, the movement calming, therapeutic for the both of them. Lincoln’s whole body was relaxed. In his slumber he was at peace.

But Michael was not.

His feelings for T-bag, his bodily cravings, his growing desire for Lincoln, and even that loaded stare Sucre had given him in the kitchen earlier weighed on him. His heart was heavy, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. Sucre was right. He was no better than T-bag. He was an animal, a slave to his carnal urges.

"I can fix this," he said aloud to himself.

"I just have to come up with a plan."

But no plan could take away the feelings, the emotions, the desires, the pain that plagued him inside. Sucre might never speak to him again. Michael didn’t notice the loan tear that escaped one gray eye.

"I can fix this," he repeated to himself.

"I can fix this."  
By the time morning arrived, he knew what he had to do.

* * *

 

Sucre woke early, the sun barely up and immediately checked his roommate. He found T-bag sleeping (the lecherous bastard actually seemed half decent when asleep) and quickly took measures to keep him that way. A couple of fists to the head should do the trick. After brushing his teeth and other matters he found his way into the living area. Linc’s shirt hung over the couch but he was nowhere to be seen. Michael must’ve taken him to their room to sleep it off. Good.

He knew where he would find his best friend. As usual, Mike was the first person up. He was in the kitchen making coffee and likely thinking. He was always thinking. Sucre watched his back, considered waiting to be acknowledged but then thought better of it.

"Hey."

Michael turned around, slightly startled by his presence. Immediately Sucre could tell that he hadn’t gotten any sleep. Or if he had it wasn’t much. His eyes bore a hint of pink, not quite red but the stress was evident.

"Hey," Michael responded.

He seemed unsure, watching Sucre with a question.

"Listen _Papi_ , about what I said last night, I was out of line. I should never have come at you that way especially with all that must be going through your mind. Just know I’d never wash my hands of you. I’d never give up on you."

He saw a slight sag of relief in Mike’s shoulders.

"I appreciate that."

Sucre let their eyes connect.

"The other stuff I said, though? About you deserving better, I did mean that. But I know it’s not my call to make. You’re a grown man. It’s your decision."

He began to move closer as he spoke.

"So I’m done trying to tell you what you should do. That’s clearly not what you need. But what I can do is encourage you to explore all other options."

Michael raised his brows inquiringly.

"And offer any type of assistance you need," Sucre added once he’d closed the distance.

Their eyes never disconnected. He saw understanding within Michael’s. And hesitancy.

"Sucre I—"

"No strings, no expectations on my part," he added.

"Just a friend doing a friend a favor. You don’t have to do anything but sit back and enjoy."

He let a hand rest on Michael’s very warm, very bare, very inked chest. He saw his friend’s breath catch at the contact.

"I can’t," Michael tried to explain.

Sucre slid his thumb over to graze a rosy nipple. Michael breathed a light moan. He didn’t stop, circling the pad of his thumb over the hardening nub. Michael licked his lips.

"He’ll kill you if he ever..."

Ignoring the warning, Sucre lowered his mouth over Mike’s free nipple and began circling it with his wet tongue. That got a hard shudder out of his friend. Gone was his hesitation as he arched into the Latino for closer contact. With that contact came the knowledge of another hardening part of his anatomy. Sucre reached down to give it a firm squeeze and Michael groaned.  
His nipples were pebbles now, sensitive and solid under Sucre’s ministrations. His body was hot as he pulled him closer and began grinding against him.

"Mmm."

Sucre had heard Michael moan through a wall for a week now but hearing him up close sent a wave of heat through him. There was something about that voice, the usually calm and collected monotone losing control that gave him shivers. No wonder T-bag refused to share.

After toying Michael into a frenzy, Sucre let his tongue glide down his ribcage, to his abdomen, kissing and licking all along the way. When he reached his belly he dipped his tongue into the small button in the center, twirling in circles with the tip. Michael was breathing shakily. The lower he dropped the closer he came to the rock hardness protruding through Michael’s sweatpants. Sucre spotted a large wet spot where precum had soaked through. Using both hands he tugged the sweats down to his ankles where Mike instinctively stepped out. He then reached around back to lift Michael by the ass onto the kitchen counter.

Time for a taste.

Sucre made a show of eyeing his prick, driving anticipation home. Michael was biting his lower lip, trembling in need. His cock, standing at full attention, twitched before Sucre’s eyes. Begging to be taken. He took it in his hand and licked around the head. Michael nearly came off the counter, groaning out.  
He pushed his friend back, still holding his pulsing cock in his hands. With full Latin lips he kissed around the desperately hard flesh, caressing his tongue over it, licking away the clear substance oozing from the tip. Again he had to shove wanton hips back as his friend arched into him. Just when Mike began to plead, he took his meat all the way into his throat.

"Oh GOD!"

Michael slammed his head back, overwrought with pleasure. He felt Sucre’s tonsils smooth and hot on his hardness and couldn’t help the volume of his moans. He just couldn’t control himself. It wasn’t like he’d never been sucked before. He’d experienced blow jobs, all by women of course. Teddy hadn’t blown him yet but he’d done other things that drove him just as crazy. But what Sucre was doing...for a guy who wasn’t into guys he certainly knew how to please a guy. Not just please him but drive him insane with ecstasy.

Michael dropped a hand to his brown head, massaging his shaven scalp.  
In the back of his mind he knew this was dangerous. If T-bag were to hear, were to approach, Sucre was a dead man. He probably was as well. But he just couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but give in to Sucre’s luscious mouth.  
He shut his eyes, lost himself completely. Then Sucre hummed against his cock and Michael had the burning urge to see him work on him. He opened his eyes, intending to look down at his new lover but was cut off at the sight in the kitchen doorway. A visibly shocked, wide-eyed and open mouthed Lincoln.

Their eyes met.

And in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t look away. Every desire, every urge he’d ever had for his big brother flooded to the forefront. He didn’t just want to fuck him. He needed to fuck him, to ravage him. To be ravaged by him.  
Michael licked his lips as he visualized Lincoln spread out before him—dick purple-red and slick, lying underneath him, Hell on top of him. The shaved head under his fingers was now Lincoln’s and he could barely gasp as his brother sucked the life, the soul and the very being out of his cock. Linc’s green eyes were jewels, shining in a glazed ecstasy as Mike recalled the noises, the grunts, the groans he’d elicited from his semi-conscious brother over the years.  
He stared into Lincoln, literally eye-fucking the shit out of him with no remorse.  
Just the sight of him threatened to take Michael over the edge. As he neared his completion, something clicked in Lincoln’s face and he abruptly fled. Michael stared after him, the image stuck in his brain. He shut his eyes again and groaned the name on his mind.

"Linc..."

He bit his lip, pressed Lincoln’s head down further to guide his pace. Faster.

"Fuck yes."

He thrust his hips forward, driving his dick deeper into his brother’s throat. Hurriedly, frantically, faster and faster. Strong hands grasped his hips to hold him down but Michael had completely lost it. He bit down harder, ignoring a coppery taste as he whipped himself forward into that glorious hot pocket. His mind became a haze. His body at Linc’s mercy. And he screamed out helplessly as he came deep within his brother’s throat shot after shot weakening him.

The sucking didn’t stop until he literally had to beg for his oversensitive prick couldn’t take it anymore. Once he was finished, Michael collapsed into a quick moving Sucre’s arms, panting loudly.

"You alright, _Pap_ i?"

He couldn’t speak for a moment, only burying his face in the crook of his best friend’s neck. His heart thundered in his ears in aftershock. He’d never been blown like this. Ever. Sucre didn’t rush him, just held him close as Michael reigned himself in, back down to Earth. When he could finally sit up on his own, he looked Sucre in the face.

"I don’t know what to say," he admitted.

His friend offered a slight smile.

"You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m here for you. Whenever you need."

He brushed Michael’s lip with his thumb.

"However you need. You don’t have to go to T-bag."

God he’d forgotten him.

"Shit, Sucre if he finds us—"

"He won’t. Not for a while."

The certainty in his voice gave Michael pause.

"What did you do?" he asked suspiciously.

Sucre just smiled.

"Something I’ve wanted to for a long time. Let’s just say he’ll wake up with a bad headache."

Michael wasn’t sure how to feel about that so he didn’t think on it. Instead he glanced down at his own naked body. Sucre followed his gaze.

"I’d better get dressed."

But he didn’t move just yet.

"Where are my pants?"

Sucre found them on the floor but instead of handing them to him, he slipped them over Michael’s ankles. Mike watched him pull the sweats up his legs, aware of the slow, deliberate manner in which he moved.

"You have an amazing body, _Papi_. You know that?"

When he reached Michael’s seated thighs they shared a glance. There was appreciation in both sets of eyes.

"I...thanks."

They lifted up and he saw Sucre give one last gaze at his softening prick before his sweats covered him. Michael sighed, content.

"You need some water?" ever attentive his friend was.

He nodded and Sucre found two bottles in the fridge. As Mike downed half the bottle in one gulp, Sucre took two mouthfuls and watched him uncertainly.

"Um, Michael, can I ask you something?"

He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

"Sure," Michael answered.

Sucre fumbled with the cap on his bottle.

"Earlier, when I was...did I hear you call me Linc?"

Michael’s heart jumped at the question. He couldn’t let another person know. He was getting too fucking careless! But he kept his face calm, refusing to show his inner panic.

"Linc? Yeah he walked in on us. I was trying to tell you but I was, well I wasn’t in the most functional state of mind."

He could see his answer working as Sucre’s face shifted to alarm.

"Lincoln saw me doing...shit!"

He set his bottle down, ran a hand down his face.

"He knows I’m into girls right? I don’t do that with any guy. Like me and you are something different. You’re special—"

Michael took his shoulders, steadying him.

"Hey, your rep is safe. Lincoln knows how to keep a secret. Maricruz will never know."

Sucre inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.

"Yea, yea, you’re right. He’s not exactly the gossiping type. More like the clobbering type. You think he’ll want to beat my ass for spoiling his baby brother?"

Michael ignored the apprehension building in him at the memory of what Linc had seen and put on a smirk for Sucre’s sake.

"Lincoln knows I was spoiled a looong time ago."

Sucre looked at him.

"Not by a man though."

Seeing his point, Michael finished his water.

"I’m sure he’s weirded out but, he didn’t attack you so that’s a good sign. I mean if you had been T-bag you wouldn’t be

standing here."

That reassured his friend.

"Linc trusts you. He knows you mean me no harm. You’re good."

But as he spoke, he remembered that moment of eye contact. How he had lost himself gazing at Linc. What had his brother seen in his eyes? What did he now know?

"Hey, I think I’ll go talk to him though," Michael hopped off the counter.

"See how he’s processing. Before T-bag wakes up."

No conversation was safe once T-bag was awake. Sucre didn’t object.

"You just keep him off me, _Papi_. I like your brother and I’d rather not have him try to kill me, you know what I’m saying?"

* * *

 

Lincoln woke with only a minor hangover. On a scale of 1 to 10 it was more like a five but it had been a while since he’d gotten decently drunk so he was still cranky. The first thing he did was find the bathroom. After relieving himself he brushed the taste of the night from his mouth and splashed water on his face. The beard was growing in nicely, not a bushel yet but dark enough to hide his face. He’d trim it soon. Keep it neat.

Michael hadn’t been in bed when he woke but that was no surprise; his brother always woke first. He was probably making breakfast or coffee at the least.

Needing a cup, Linc left the bathroom for the kitchen. He wasn’t even halfway there when he heard the moans.

What was that?

Scratching his head he ventured closer, headache and wonder sharing his brain. He was just past his and Mike’s room when he heard his brother gasp, "Oh GOD!"

A loud crack followed and Lincoln took off to find him. He reached the doorway, ready to bring Hell down on whoever hurt Michael when he was stopped cold in his tracks.

There was his brother, bare-ass naked on the kitchen counter, and between his legs was Fernando Sucre, enthusiastically sucking his dick.

What. The. Fuck.

Lincoln stared, disbelieving what his eyes swore he was seeing. Michael wasn’t in distress, on the contrary he was very much enjoying himself.

His eyes were shut in ecstasy, his head back against the cabinet. He was sucking on his bottom lip. Lincoln couldn’t move, couldn’t process what was happening. It just didn’t make sense. Then Michael opened his eyes and met his. That was when things got even weirder.

He tried to turn away, to avoid the expected embarrassed gaze he’d receive but instead Michael stared right back heatedly. His gray eyes bore through Lincoln and Linc felt his own face flush uncomfortably.

His baby brother stared on and suddenly he felt vulnerable under his scrutiny. Like he was naked too. Lincoln tried to shake off the thought but Michael’s eyes were blazing, boldly raking him with an unapologetic, carnal hunger that made him want to flee. It was like he was fucking him. Literally eye-fucking him. And not too tenderly either.

Disturbed, panicked, and just straight up baffled, Lincoln did the only thing he could. He retreated. Not to the bedroom, there he could still hear his brother’s groans, but outside to the backyard. There he shut the door, threw his back against it and took in heavy breaths. He hadn’t seen what he’d seen. Not in the kitchen, not in Michael’s eyes. Just no.

There was no way this was happening. He must have misread. He closed his eyes, massaged his temples. Okay so his brother was fucking Sucre. They’d been cellmates back in Fox River so maybe that wasn’t such a surprise? No, it still didn’t make sense. He’d known Michael all his life, pretty much raised him. He’d have known if his brother was into guys. Then again prison did change you. He couldn’t deny that Michael had undergone some changes since incarceration.

And Sucre? Well he’d had him fooled. What was that Michael used to say about protesting too much? Okay, but aside from that there was something else that bothered him more than anything. The way Michael had looked at him. That scorching gaze...

_This is insane. My baby brother doesn’t want to fuck me. He was caught up in the moment, wasn’t really seeing me._

Lincoln shook it out of his head. He never wanted to see anything like that again. If he could just bleach it out of his mind that would be nice. Tired, he found the lawn chair from the other night and sat down. He’d just wait outside until everything was over. Then, when Michael wanted to talk, he’d know where to find him. Until then he’d concentrate on convincing himself that he’d never seen his brother look at him like he wanted to fuck him into oblivion.

On his way to Linc, Michael peeked in on T-bag. He was still fast asleep, a knot formed on his forehead. Teddy was so going to seek retribution for that...

He shook his head and moved on. Mike found Lincoln sitting in the backyard, staring into the trees that hid them. He could see the tension in his brother’s back and was tempted to relieve him with a massage but after earlier he refrained. This would be awkward enough.

"You and Sucre, huh?"

No need to turn around, Linc had heard him come through the door.

"It’s complicated," Michael answered honestly.

Lincoln didn’t comment. He was struggling with this, Mike already knew. He knew his brother.

"So how long has this been going on? You and him? You into...guys?"

Michael took his time taking a seat beside Linc’s chair on the grass. His brother didn’t look at him.

"I don’t know. I guess I’m still sorting that out."

"It’s complicated, right?"

Michael swallowed.

"Linc, I’m sorry about what you saw. I swear if I’d known you were awake it never would’ve happened. I never wanted you to see me like that."

Which was true.

"Is this what’s been wrong with everybody?" Linc asked.

"Why Sucre and T-bag were at each other’s throats yesterday? They fighting over you?"

Perceptive.

"Something like that."

Lincoln sighed his disapproval.

"That’s really fucked up Michael. We don’t need that kind of drama."

He couldn’t agree more. It was hard enough being the object of it. Let alone what he was feeling on the inside.

"I know."

"T-bag touches you and I’ll kill him."

"I know."

Now was not the time to confess that T-bag already had touched him quite a bit. Or that he liked it.  
In fact, he was sure he’d never confess that truth to Lincoln.

He’d take it to his grave.

"So what is it Michael? What the hell is going on with you?" his big brother suddenly blurted.

He looked up from his seat in the grass to find that Linc had finally faced him.

"You’re doing guys, you’re defending T-bag, you still haven’t come up with a plan to save LJ and I walk in on you in the kitchen where we fucking eat? And don’t think I forgot about you attacking me yesterday? What the fuck Mike?"

How could he explain himself without losing Linc? That it all came down to his love for him. That one selfless act seventeen years ago had led up to a series of events including sexual blackmail, a newfound awakening and the most muddled his mind had ever been since puberty. Michael shook his head hard, feeling quite muddled now.

"I..."

Lincoln’s face began to blur.

"I love...you...Linc..."

Or was he swirling? Michael blinked, suddenly very confused. What was happening? Where was happening? Who?

"Michael?" Hands grabbed his shoulders and shook.

"Michael?!"  
Lincoln. He was the only thing that made sense. He smiled, seeing his brother. Then he was floating, floating and…

 


	9. Shit Hits The Fan

Michael was looking weird. No, high or something. His pupils dilated, his eyes fading to lost right before him. Lincoln seized his shoulders and shook him.

"Michael?!"

But the grays went blank. He grabbed his brother’s face, inspected him. Drugs, had to be. Since when did Michael do drugs?! Especially something of this effect.

He didn’t. Never would. His mind was too precious. Which meant someone had drugged him. A newfound rage filled Lincoln at the thought of someone drugging his baby brother. Especially since there were only 2 suspects.

He scooped his brother up over his shoulder and barged back into the apartment.

"SUCRE!! BAGWELL!!!"

He carried Mike to the living area and lied him on the couch. That blank stare never left his eyes.

"GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!!!"

He wasn’t waiting for them to obey. He found Sucre stumbling out of the kitchen, a weird look in his eyes. Confused, lost. Similar to Michael’s but he was at least semi-aware. Linc snatched him by the front of his shirt.

"What’s wrong with Michael? What did you fucking do?!"

Sucre blinked.

"I...I don’t..."

He was under the same influence. Had he and Mike taken whatever together? No, despite his erratic behavior the past week, Lincoln was sure that Mike would never diminish his faculties in such a way. Which left the obvious suspect.  
He nearly tore the door off the hinges, kicking it open with such force and found a bruised up Bagwell asleep in bed. Lincoln yanked him up and began shaking him with accusation.

"What the fuck did you do to my brother you pervert son of a bitch?!"

Bagwell woke with a start, his brown eyes snapping to attention and immediately went into fight mode. Prison and nightly visits from his daddy at as a kid had conditioned him to survive. He swung on Linc, connected with his face. That just pissed Linc off. He tossed the man into the hall, T-bag landing ungraciously at the floor and stormed toward him.

"Whoa, whoa Sink!"

Bagwell held his hands up, "What’s your problem?"

He waited until Linc got closer to shoot an elbow to his ribcage. Ignoring the shock of pain, Lincoln worked in two shots to the face before pinning him with his forearm to his throat against the wall. His full body weight crushed against T-bag as he leaned a breath from his face.

"What did you do to my brother?"

Bagwell stared, feigning confusion he could tell.

"Do? To Pretty? Why whatever do you—"

Impatient, Linc gave him a shot to the gut. Bagwell retched but couldn’t double over on account of Linc’s body.

"What the fuck did you give him?"

T-bag tried to collect himself.

"I’ve been sleeping all morning, when could I give him anything?"

He had a point there. Still, he and Bagwell were the only two not affected by whatever had Michael and Sucre. And he knew he hadn’t done anything.

"Come here."

He half dragged T-bag to the living area where Michael sat slumped on the couch, staring at nothing.  
Sucre sat beside him, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Linc gestured toward them.

"I know you’re behind this. What the fuck did you do?"

Bagwell took a look at Michael and smirked. That earned him another hit to the gut. This time he did double over.

"You planning on raping him?" Linc accused.

"Thought you could drug him and have your way with him? That what you’re up to?"

T-bag glanced up at him then, a full on smile in his eyes. An arrogant, secretive smile that for some reason disturbed Lincoln to his core. It was aimed directly at him. A deliberate taunt screaming that he knew something Linc didn’t.  
Unnerved, he shoved T-bag to the floor.

"I’m going to give you three seconds to tell me what you gave them or I’m going to fucking stomp your face into the ground."  
Bagwell spat blood from his mouth, his eyes still taunting.

"Well since you asked so nicely," he began.

"I have been giving your brother a little something for the past week. Family recipe, passed down from Bagwell generations. Very high in protein. He takes it like a champion, all the way down that pretty throat of his. Just gobbles it up."

Linc moved toward him.

"Don’t believe me, ask your Mexican friend over there. He’s heard us every night since we...connected."

"Bullshit!"

Linc glanced at Sucre for consensus. Michael would never stoop so low. But when Sucre didn’t object a painful knot twisted into the pit of his stomach.

"Tell him that’s bullshit, Sucre."

Maybe it was the drugs that held his tongue. He meant to agree with Linc but couldn’t? But he wasn’t completely gone like Michael was. There was still some awareness in his eyes. They were glaring at T-bag.

"Should have been me...not you..."

Lincoln wasn’t liking what he was hearing.

"Sucre!"

"...first time...should be special..."

First what? Never a patient man, Lincoln grabbed Sucre’s shoulders.

"What are you talking about?"

Bagwell answered, coming to his feet from behind him.

"He’s talking about how I popped your brother’s cherry, Sink. First and only man to run up in that pretty ass. Now he belongs to me."

He felt his jaw twitch angrily as he spun around. He was just in time for Bagwell’s blade to stab into his abdomen. Pain ripped through him as he scowled at the enemy who’d pierced him.

"You son of a bitch!"

T-bag shoved the weapon in deeper.

"Don’t fret, Sink. I’ll take good care of your brother while you’re gone."

He tried to charge him, to grab his neck and squeeze but the blood gushing from his belly brought agony with it. Beyond furious, Lincoln fell to his knees, collapsing on the floor. The only thought in his head to protect Michael. This wasn’t over!

* * *

 

He’d been sure to spike all of the bottles in the front row. After Pretty had left him to deal with his drunken brother last night, T-bag had taken the opportunity to search the room for "treats." Whatever Pretty was giving Sink those nights he sucked him off, T-bag wanted a piece. He knew it would come in handy and today his instinct had paid off.

Though it wasn’t as he’d planned (Sink was the main one he needed to put down, and Sucre should be just as blank as Michael) things were still going in his favor. He’d successfully fucked with Sink’s head opening up the chance for a swift strike. And Sucre could barely make a sentence. Best of all, Michael was so out of it that he couldn’t interfere with his dastardly plans. By the time he recovered both Sink and the beaner would be painful memories: their lives cut short at the hands of FBI agent Mahone. That’s what the press had called him on tv Agent Alexander Mahone.

Michael would mourn, he would weep and of course his Teddy would be there to comfort him. With kisses, caresses, hardcore fucking. Yes, there would always be fucking. He had his Pretty well trained.

But before he could get to that he had a spic to split open.

" _Hola_ ," he taunted, stalking Sucre with that predator’s pace.

The Latino glared, tried to stand but lost his balance and fell back on the couch.

"You been trying to dip your hands in my cookie jar, hombre. I thought I made it clear that I don’t like my things to be touched."

He debated whether to just gut him or make him suffer first. He had a little time. Standing over the Latino now he decided, yes he should suffer first. Be humiliated.

"You know," T-bag chuckled.

"It just occurred to me you’re the only one in this room who ain’t never had his dick sucked by Pretty. A shame really because he’s damn good at it."

It didn’t matter that he’d let Michael’s secret slip. Sink was down and Sucre was high. Plus they were both going to die anyway.

"...fuck...you..." was the response.

Oh feisty was he? Well T-bag knew how to deal with feisty.

"Is that what you want? To fuck me?" he laughed.

What a perfect humiliation. He began undoing his own pants.

"Why didn’t you just say so?"

It was easy to overpower him, on account of the drugs. Sucre fought but his moves were clumsy, uncoordinated. Even against a one-handed man. Bagwell was able to wrestle him to the floor, flipping him to his stomach in the process. He tugged Sucre’s pants and undies down and spit in his hands.

"You shouldn’t have messed with what’s mine," he remarked as he rubbed it onto his cock.

"Enjoy my dick in your ass. It’ll be the closest you’ll ever get to fucking Scofield."

He placed himself, smacked his hardening wood against brown cheeks and plunged forward. Sucre jumped, cursing like a madman in his native tongue. Bagwell barely got one stroke off when suddenly a big arm was around his throat, yanking him backward.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, a bloody Lincoln Burrows on top of him. Fists collided with his face, dazing him and he knew that his nose was broken. He reached for the screwdriver, the same weapon he’d just set down to deal with Sucre—FUCK! Sink kept coming, that face of his reflecting all of the hatred and rage he felt for him. T-bag swung, even tried to get a good jab to the belly wound in but his vision began to darken and he could hardly catch his breath. The last thing he saw was a large bloody fist coming down straight for his face.

 


	10. Goodbye Teddy

He woke with a dull pain in his ass. Literally. Sucre blinked his eyes, trying to register who, what and where. His body ached, courtesy of the hard floor beneath him. Why was he sleeping on the floor? He rubbed his eyes. The uncomfortable itch of carpet to his crotch area caused him to shift.

Wait why was his bare crotch in the carpet?

He glanced down, realized that his pants were at his ankles. What the fuck?!?! Alarmed, confused and shaky with dread he jumped to his feet and fixed his clothes. This stunt had T-bag written all over it. Had that bastard raped him in his sleep? He was considering the pain in his ass when he nearly tripped over a pile on the floor.

It took him a second to register that it was in fact two bloody bodies, one on top of the other.  
He instantly recognized Lincoln as the top. Beneath him T-bag, battered and broken.

"Linc?"

He crouched to his knees, felt for a pulse. They were both breathing but Linc didn’t look too hot. His skin was too pale and clammy.

"Yo, Linc, what happened? Where’s Michael?"

He glanced around the room and found him. He was unconscious, slumped halfway off the opposite end of the couch. Sucre’s heart started as he rushed to see if he was okay. His pulse was strong.

"Aye _Papi_ , wake up! We have a situation."

He shook him. Michael didn’t move.

"Come on. Something’s wrong with your brother!"

He slapped him a couple of times. When he still didn’t move Sucre stepped back. What the hell had happened?! He turned his attention back to Lincoln. Swallowing hard he pulled the big man off of his enemy and moved him to the couch. Why were T-bag’s pants down?

Then he saw the blood on Lincoln’s belly.

"Oh shit."

What to do? Thinking was always Michael’s department. He bit his fist. Linc should probably be lying down. He shifted him, lying him across so that his head rested on Michael’s lap. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which gave a clearer view of the wound. Sucre inspected it best he could but knew it was out of his area of expertise. A medical professional he was not.  
He would just have to wing it.

"Stop the bleeding," he said aloud.

But how? Searching his mind for the limited knowledge he had on the matter, Sucre suddenly remembered a movie he’d seen once. A cowboy had been shot in the stomach clean through. In order to stop the bleeding he’d taken a hot poker and cauterized the wound. It had worked.

" _Dios mio_ ," there were no hot pokers here.

And he couldn’t build a fire, the smoke would attract attention. He’d have to use the stovetop. But what object could he use for the poker itself? A knife might do more damage. He glanced again at Michael for help.  
What had T-bag done to him? Turning his, attention back to Linc’s issue he began searching the apartment for anything metal to be used. He found his answer covered in blood a few inches from where he’d awoken. A screwdriver. Was that what Linc had been stabbed with?

He retrieved it and hurried to the kitchen. Because the apartment was an older model, the stove was gas. Sucre was thankful as he turned the dial to be greeted with blue flames. He set the screwdriver in its midst. How long should he let it sit? He wasn’t sure. While he waited, he checked in on the unconscious three. His nose wrinkled when he looked at T-bag, completely exposed with his pants at his thighs. He’d have to ask Linc about that later. Bagwell couldn’t be allowed to wake before the others. The bastard would have to be bound.

A few bedsheets and torn curtains later that’s exactly where he landed, bound to his own bed. He couldn’t hurt anyone but himself now. After dealing with T-bag he went back to Linc. The screwdriver should be hot enough now. He took it from the stove, noticed it’s red tinge and feared if it was too hot. What damage would that do? Could he actually make things worse? Deciding that red was too hot he set it down to cool. He used the downtime to check Lincoln’s vitals again then Michael’s.

Then he tried to piece together the events of the morning. He remembered blowing Michael—that had been fun. His friend was pretty animated in bed, his body sensitive and eager. His reactions alone made you want to cum too quick. He’d tasted even better than he’d imagined as well. His skin was warm honey. Sucre glanced over at him. He wouldn’t mind tasting him again. In other ways as well...if he were into guys.

He remembered Mike mentioning that Lincoln had walked in on them. Then he’d gone to talk to him. Sucre had been nervous about that. He couldn’t bear anyone thinking he was a maricón. He remembered dropping his water and suddenly he was waking up on the floor with his pants down. Again the concern of rape popped up but if he’d been raped his ass would be on fire. Certainly more than the dull pain he’d felt earlier. Still, why the fuck was his ass hurting at all?

T-bag. The son of a bitch. He’d handle him. Later. But now he had to focus. It was time to cauterize Lincoln’s wound. He said a prayer for both Linc’s safety. Then another for his own once Linc woke in pain. Then he did what he had to do.

Lincoln’s entire body came alive as the pain tore him from his slumber. His eyes shot out as he screamed out loud his agony. Sucre stepped back, out of his reach.

"Linc? You with me?"

Sweat ran down his straining face as he tried to process the pain. Green eyes struggled to focus his way.

"What...the fuck...Sucre..."

He was well enough to curse him. Good.

"You’re bleeding too bad, man. I had to cauterize the wound."

Lincoln began to tremble whether with rage or pain he wasn’t sure.

"Michael...where’s Michael?"

Sucre gestured above his head.

"Behind you. He’s your pillow. He’s out though. I couldn’t wake him up. What the hell happened?"

Linc turned his head, saw Michael above him and looked back at him.

"Fucking T-bag...stabbed me. He drugged you and Mike somehow. Tried to rape you."

He grit against the pain.

"I literally saved your ass, _amigo_."

He felt his anger flare up at the confirmation. Bagwell was so going to get it now!

"Good looking out. Now let me save your life."

They had no alcohol. With four felons sequestered and one predatory and lustful, it hadn’t seemed a good idea. Now Sucre wished they hadn’t listened to Michael on that one.

"Okay, Linc. You’re going to have to bear with it. I gotta do it again."

Lincoln nodded, grimace on his face, and turned away toward Michael.

"Do it."

The second application was rougher than the first, simply because he was aware that Linc was aware. Third time seemed to do the trick. He split for the kitchen and dropped the screwdriver in the sink.

"Water, you’ll need some," he called as he reached into the fridge.

His patient grunted in response. To be safe, he brought him two bottles. As Linc could barely move at the moment, Sucre opened one and pressed it to the ailing man’s lips. He swallowed a few sips before snatching it away with a wince. Lincoln Burrows was no invalid.

"You and Mike were drugged but I’m okay," he noted.

"Did he give you anything like food or something to drink? Stick you with anything?"

Sucre shook his head. Bagwell hadn’t even made it out of bed that morning as far as he knew. The closest to interaction they’d had was him dragging T-bag back to their room and strapping him to the bed just now.

"No, he didn’t even get up."

Linc shifted, visibly in pain.

"Well did you eat anything? Did Michael? I haven’t had shit all day. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t affected."

He brought the bottle to his mouth again and started to drink while Sucre thought on his question. He wasn’t sure what Michael had done before he’d come to the kitchen but he himself hadn’t had the chance to eat on account of the blacking out. Aside from Michael’s heavy load of cum that morning the only thing he’d ingested all day was...

"No!"

He leaped to his feet and knocked the bottle from Lincoln’s hand. Water splashed the both of them, the remaining liquid spilling out across the carpet.

"What the—

"It’s the water!" he exclaimed.

"Michael and I both had water. That’s all I had."

Linc glanced down at the emptying bottle.

"The water?"

It came back to him now.

"In the kitchen, after me and Michael—"he caught himself, felt his face tinge at Linc’s eyes on him. He’d walked in on the activity between the two.

"We were thirsty. He drank a whole bottle before he went to talk to you. I didn’t get to finish mine because I dropped it."

More like threw it down in an anxious moment as he’d considered the ramifications of Lincoln knowing he’d gone down on his baby brother. But he wasn’t going to tell Linc that.

"Shit. He drank a whole bottle?"

Sucre nodded. He looked Michael over, still dead to the world.

"Wonder what it was T-bag gave us. Or where he got it from."

"Some nothing drug dealer most likely. You did go on a supply run the other day right?"

He hadn’t thought of it but yes, that would’ve been the perfect opportunity.

"He got back a lot later than I did! Claimed he almost got spotted or something. You think he still has some on him? Maybe I can find out what it is."

Lincoln shut his eyes against his pain. His complexion was taking on an ashen tone.

"Go for it," he suggested.

Sucre rushed for the bedroom then and began rummaging through it all. He started with T-bag’s pockets. Nothing there. He then turned the place upside down, drawers, under the bed, he felt under the mattress until...

"What’s this?"

He found a rip at the seam, within it a torn napkin holding something hard. He pulled it out. Opened it up. Found four white pills.

"Linc, I got ‘em!!"

Back in the living area he showed Burrows his findings. Lincoln studied them, his brows knit as he tried to figure them out.

"You recognize them?"

"No, you?"

Sucre hadn’t been in the drug circuit.

"No. But they look fancy. Like out of a pharmacy."

Lincoln narrowed his eyes.

"Obviously the dealer has a hook-up. I never sold anything like this though."

He could tell it was taking a lot of effort for his friend to stay conscious. He’d lost a lot of blood.

"We need to get some food in you."

"Yea, spiked with T-bag’s drugs, I don’t think so."

"You at least need apple juice. When my cousin donated blood she always got apple juice and graham crackers."

Lincoln scoffed.

"I’m not in the mood to eat."

He eyed the pills again.

"I wish I knew what they did to my brother."

Again looking to Michael, Sucre stood and felt his pulse. Lincoln watched him as he opened Mike’s eyes and peered into them. Still out like a light.

"You lied to me."

He glanced from Michael to his brother.

"Huh?"

"You said nothing was going on between you and my brother. That you weren’t into guys."

"I’m not," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Even in his condition, Lincoln managed a side eye.

"After what I saw this morning I’d beg to differ."

Sucre felt himself flush.

"That was different. Michael’s different."

"I hate being lied to."

He couldn’t look at Linc.

"I didn’t lie. Nothing had happened with him yet when you asked. It just happened today," he admitted.

"So the whole time you were in Fox River you never took advantage of him?"

Took advantage? That offended him.

"What? No! I’d never do anything to hurt Michael. But for the record he’s fully capable of taking advantage of other people if he wanted. He’s not as helpless as you think."

"You saying he took advantage of you?" Linc scoffed.

"No, you and I both know his heart is too pure for that."

There was a brief silence.

"You really care about him?"

Sucre answered honestly.

"I do."

"You know anything about T-bag messing with him?"

He’d warned Michael that Lincoln would figure it out. He just hadn’t expected it to be this soon. Either way, he didn’t want to be the one to break Michael’s trust.

"Messing with him?" he played dumb.

"Don’t fucking lie to me, Sucre. I already know."

He met Linc’s eyes finally and confirmed that yes he knew.

"How?"

"T-bag, right before he stabbed me. Guess he figured I’d be dead so it wouldn’t matter. But I didn’t believe it until I looked at your face. You knew."

His green eyes glinted with anger.

"How long has this shit been going on? And why the fuck didn’t you say anything?"

Despite his weakened state Lincoln Burrows could still be quite intimidating. Sucre had a feeling had Linc not lost so much blood he’d have him in a headlock or something equally as uncomfortable.

"A week. Michael was too ashamed for you to know. I figured it must be blackmail so I tried to stop him. It worked for one night but...well now we’re here."

Linc struggled to sit up. He made it, went dizzy and faltered. Sucre reached to assist him but was met with a heated glare.

"You let T-bag fuck my brother for a week under the same roof and never said shit to me?"

He wanted to throttle him, it was obvious. Sucre had to defend his silence.

"You didn’t see him. He was terrified of you finding out. And to be honest, we both know what you would’ve done because I wanted to do it too."

Lincoln was breathing hard, exertion from sitting up getting to him.

"I’m going to fucking kill him. Where is he? He’s fucking dead."

The threat would be more credible if Linc didn’t look halfway there himself.

"You need to rest. Eat something. Replenish your blood supply. Or the only one dead will be you."

"I told you I’m not touching shit in there!"

"What about packaged stuff? Like cookies? He couldn’t reseal that," he suggested.

Lincoln didn’t object.

"What kind?" he finally relented.

Sucre ran off to go see. When he’d found Oreos and an unopened carton of milk, he brought it to him. As he watched his best friend’s brother start on the snacks he again felt compelled to confess to him.

"He’s really confused, really vulnerable with this. You wouldn’t understand how he’s feeling. You’ve never been through it."

Lincoln glared.

"Don’t tell me what I wouldn’t understand. He’s my brother."

Stubborn ox. Didn’t get what Sucre was trying to say.

"He’s never been...Linc, this was his first time with a man. Ever. And it was with T-bag."

He let that sink in. When he saw understanding dawn on his friend’s face he continued.

"We both know he’s good with the planning and logic stuff but this thing has him all mixed up. I don’t think he knows or understands what’s happening to him. But he’s ashamed. And he’s scared. And he needs you to be there, even more than me. Because you’re his brother."

Lincoln finally seemed to be getting it. Instead of anger, another expression took his face. He looked over at Michael.

"Fuck."

Sucre leaned in, feeling concern for Linc now.

"You all right?"

"This is my fucking fault. If he’d never gotten me out he never would’ve met T-bag or been a fugitive or any of this shit!"  
In a fit of guilt he shoved the snacks away.

"Abruzzi took his toes, T-bag took his..."

Perhaps it was the weakness from the loss of blood, maybe the pain of the cauterizing but this was the most emotion he’d seen from Lincoln in the whole time he’d known him. Aside from anger anyway.

"He lost too much. Because of me. Because of me!"

Linc bit his lip, visibly holding back. Maybe he wanted to scream. Maybe he wanted to cry. Whatever it was, he struggled to reign it in. Sucre watched, unsure of what to do. Had it been Michael before him, he’d easily move forward, wrap an arm around him for comfort. But he and Lincoln hadn’t gotten that close. And even if they had, Linc wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. He’d probably shove Sucre off in some prideful, macho gesture. Still, he was hurting and Sucre couldn’t let the brother of his best friend hurt this way.

"Linc?"

Besides, he’d grown to consider him a friend too.

"This ain’t on you. You were innocent, right?"

Lincoln didn’t look at him.

"I should’ve just took the wrap, plead guilty. Let them kill me."

He couldn’t allow that kind of talk.

"You know what that would’ve done to Michael? You dying? It would’ve destroyed him."

"He’d have gotten over it. Hell someday I really am going to die so what’s it matter how soon?"

Now he was talking off the rails. If Michael heard this he’d have a meltdown. Without thinking on it, Sucre was on the couch, grabbing Linc’s face.

"Don’t you ever talk about dying again, you understand? That would kill Michael. Literally kill him inside. Neither of us wants that."

Lincoln was either too surprised or too weak to fight him off but the instinct was in his eyes.

"Besides there are other people that want to see you breathing. Like LJ. And me."

They were silent then, his words hitting their mark. Lincoln cleared his throat as he regained his composure.

"Sucre."

"Yea?"

"Get the fuck off me."

That was the Lincoln Burrows he knew. He scooted back, removing his hands from his friend’s face but didn’t leave the couch.

"We end this now," Linc resolved, "T-bag fucking dies NOW."

He tried to stand, lost his balance and fell back down.

"Didn’t I tell you? You lost too much blood."

Linc was shaking, breathing kind of quick and shallow. There was no color in his face.

"I’m going to kill him," he grunted, still trying to get up.

"I’m—"

Sucre shoved him back down, determined to keep him from overexertion. Before Linc could protest, he applied more pressure, including a hand to his mouth.

"Stop it, _meijo_. You’re too injured. Let me deal with it."

Of course the big man glared up at him. But he had to put his foot down. He found the cookies on the floor and dropped them in Lincoln’s lap.

“Eat. Now.”

Begrudgingly, Linc complied.

“I’ll handle T-bag,” Sucre repeated.

“Don’t worry about it.”

What he didn’t say was that he was worried himself. Because he had no idea what to do about T-bag. Sure, Linc had a very definite idea but Sucre had never taken a life before. Even a life like T-bag’s was still a life. The funny thing was that he’d dreamed of doing just that the night before but now presented with the chance he knew he couldn’t. Not while the creep was tied up and beaten down.

“I’ll be right back.”

He left the brothers to check in on their unconscious prisoner. T-bag was still secured. Sucre folded his arms and pondered his fate. Even if he could kill in cold blood, what would Michael say? It was one thing to do so in self-defense but this would be vengeance. He would never be the same. Michael would never see him the same. He had to admit, he wasn’t the hardest felon on this escape. Someone like Abruzzi would’ve had no problem ending T-bag right there and now. But Abruzzi was dead, just like Tweener and C-note and Haywire. All at the hands of the FBI. He ran a frustrated hand down his face. Apparently the feds had no problem taking out their enemies. As he considered that reality, he remembered Lincoln’s idea the night they’d stayed out plotting. Just beat the shit out of T-bag and turn him in. Why not? Linc had already administered the beatdown. All they needed to do was get to a safe location that Bagwell couldn’t rat out and call the feds.

And he said Michael had all the ideas in the family.

Ironically T-bag had been the one to push their plan forward. By stabbing Lincoln he was forcing Michael to make a choice. And everyone knew what that choice would be. Sucre couldn’t help the broad smile that suddenly split his lips. Things had worked out perfectly. They could finally be rid of T-bag once and for all.

But first thing was first, they needed to get away. To do that they’d need a car. Thanks to his cousin Palo growing up, he’d developed the necessary skills for that.

“Linc, I need you to hold things down,” he requested as he hit the living area again.

“I’m going to get us a car.”

Lincoln grunted in response but asked no questions. Sucre appreciated it. Who had time to explain? He set out on his trek, optimism flooding inside. This was really happening. They were actually going to pull it off!

* * *

 

While Sucre was away, Michael began to stir. Lincoln noticed but there was nothing much he could do so he watched his brother with hope in his eyes. Their friend wasn’t gone too long nevertheless, by the time he returned Linc was barely able to hold his eyes open.

“Come on, I got you.”

Sucre was sure to park around the back, not that there were really any neighbors to notice, but he couldn’t be too careful. The first thing he did was check on Linc. He noticed that his friend was fighting to stay conscious. He was losing that battle.

_He’s too weak to move._

Though Sucre considered himself a pretty fit guy he didn’t like his odds of carrying his friend’s dead weight. Lincoln wasn’t a small man.

“You know Linc, you really could’ve laid off the cheeseburgers,” he joked.

Lincoln didn’t respond but another welcome voice did.

“Linc loves his red meat,” Michael croaked.

Relief filled the Latino as he turned to see Michael stretching his long limbs. Just like every morning back in Fox River, he was beautiful.

“ _Dios mio_ , I’m glad you’re awake!”

Without thinking he threw his arms around Michael, earning a grunt of surprise from his waking friend.

“Sucre, what’s going on?”

“I need you to help me get your brother to the car. He’s hurt pretty b—”

He was cut off when Michael noticed his semi-conscious brother sharing the same couch.

“Linc!”

Sucre wasn’t sure if he’d moved or been tossed aside but the next thing he knew he was struggling for balance as Michael inspected his brother.

“What happened?!”

His gray eyes were already wet.

“T-bag happened, _Papi_.”

Michael glanced at him then and Sucre visibly winced at the anguish in his best friend’s eyes. It hurt his soul to see Michael in such pain.

“Teddy did this?”

Mike’s attention went back to Linc, feeling his forehead, checking his wound, audibly gasping at the damage.

“I had to cauterize it,” Sucre explained.

“He was losing too much blood. I tried to get him to eat something but we don’t know what all T-bag drugged.”

Michael’s head snapped his way at the word.

“Drugged?”

“Yeah. He drugged our water. Some weird pills.”

Mike’s face blanched.

“You drank more than I did so you were out all day. Linc kept him off us. I got him tied up in his bed.”

He didn’t mention the attempted rape, mainly to protect his rep. Plus, that sting in his asshole when he’d awoken hinted that it was more than an attempt.

“He needs antibiotics,” Michael was tending to Linc again.

“I can get some. There’s a pharmacy three blocks away. When you sent us out I saw it.”

Michael nodded.

“Okay.”

“Papi, listen. You, me and Linc gotta go. I lifted us a car out back. T-bag ain’t coming. You okay with that?”

He watched the open emotion play on his best friend’s face, a rare sight. The pain and fear for Lincoln, the guilt for his involvement with the man who’d stabbed him. Realization at what Sucre had told him.

“We’re turning him in, aren’t we?” he asked quietly.

Sucre nodded.

“He tried to kill us. If it wasn’t for your brother I’d be a corpse right now.”

Michael didn’t comment but his eyes spoke his turmoil. He was hurt. Betrayed. Apparently Mike had believed that T-bag wouldn’t hurt them for him.

“We need to get Linc to the car.”

It wasn’t easy with him unable to stand but the two managed to get Lincoln laid out across the backseat. Mike included blankets and propped his head up with a pillow. Sucre had left the car running on account of the lack of keys.

“Stay here,” Michael instructed.

He began to argue but the grave resolve in Michael’s eyes stopped him.

“Be careful,” was all he could say as Michael re-entered the apartment to confront his lover.

* * *

 

Linc had done a job on him. Teddy looked a mess. Michael stood over him, his pills retrieved safely in his pocket. He reached out a hand to touch Bagwell’s now unrecognizable face on account of the beating.

“That you, Pretty?”

His voice was dry, gruff. Mike brought his hand back to his side.

“Why, Teddy? Why would you do this to him?”

He didn’t have to specify which him.

“Because he would never let me have you.”

Michael stared.

“You’re mine, Scofield. But you and I both know your brother would never allow that.”

Michael felt his lip quiver but didn’t allow anything further. This was entirely his fault. Despite the incredible guilt, he would not cry in front of T-bag.

“You keep saying that. Ever since the first time we…” he swallowed, unable to say it without remembering.

“We fucked,” T-bag finished for him, amused.

Michael cleared his throat.

“Ever since then you’ve been saying that but whether or not it was true—”

“I recall you saying it yesterday when I had you facedown on your brother’s bed—”

“That all ended the second you touched Linc,” he finished.

Bagwell shifted in response.

“What I don’t understand is why you would do the one thing in this world that would hurt me the most. Why hurt the one person in this world I love the most. If I truly mattered to you?”

He blinked back the pools in his eyes. It hurt, knowing that his actions had brought this on Lincoln. But that wasn’t the only pain he felt. Just when he’d started to actually care for T-bag, to open up to him and the possibility of…more.

“I couldn’t let him take you away,” Bagwell said quietly.

He looked directly into Michael’s eyes. Both men were filled with emotion. A longing. Mike leaned closer and a tear finally escaped down his cheek.

“Yet by your actions you drove me away.”

He felt a pain in his chest at what he had to do. But after what T-bag had done to Lincoln there was no option.

“Goodbye, Theodore.”

His fingers found T-bag’s nose, pinching off his air supply. Bagwell’s eyes widened and he began to struggle against his bonds. His mouth shot open, desperate for air. That’s when Michael shoved the pill in, quickly clamping Teddy’s jaw shut after. T-bag glared, tried to spit, flung his head around wildly in an attempt to loosen the grip & expel the contents of his mouth.

Determined, Michael stood fast. Tears flowed freely now as he held him down, knowing perfectly well what awaited his first lover once all was said and done. He’d never get to see him again. Touch him again. Fuck him again. T-bag would be right back in Fox River. If Mahone didn’t get to him…

“I hope you understand, this is the only mercy I’ll show you, Teddy. If you ever try to hurt my brother again I will not hesitate to end you.”

Bagwell growled, still fighting. The look he gave Michael then was a combination of lust and malice rolled into one. It caused the young man’s cock to twitch. Mike didn’t release him until he was sure that the pill had dissolved. He’d timed it long ago, the amount of time it would take with saliva alone. He received his confirmation when Bagwell's struggle lost tenacity. His eyes slowly became less focused. Then he stepped back.

“Mine,” T-bag managed as he glowered his way.

“You will... always… be mine… Scofield.”

It was a declaration, a promise and a threat. He would never let him go. Michael stared down at the man who’d literally rocked his entire world in just a week.

“Goodbye Teddy.”

And he left him, making his way toward freedom and the brother he’d share it with.

 


	11. Do Out Of Love

Lincoln had faded in and out. He vaguely remembered Sucre saying something about getting a car and he’d be right back. Then he remembered two people helping him into the backseat of a gray Mitsubishi. The next thing he knew he was waking up to a teary-eyed Michael sitting over him.

“Linc? You’re awake?”

His baby brother touched his face as if he couldn’t believe it was so. Lincoln tried to answer but his throat scratched and he coughed instead. After clearing it he was able to speak.

“Mike, you all right?”

Michael seemed to chuckle and sob in one sound.

“You’re the one who gets stabbed but you’re asking me if I’m all right?”

Linc was more than serious when he replied.

“You’re my brother. I’m always going to ask if you’re all right.”

Michael seemed to take it in and accept it as fact. Good. He’d better.

“We got you some antibiotics for infection,” his brother explained.

“And while you were sleeping I was able to clean you up a bit. It was hairy for a while but you’re going to be okay.”

Mike wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You’re going to be okay,” he repeated more so as a reassurance to himself.

Lincoln reached up and took his hand.

“Hey. Yea, I’m going to be okay.”

He hated to see his baby brother cry. For a while they just stared at each other, confirming that the other was indeed alive and well. Lincoln never released Mike’s hand.

“I um, I know about…you and T-bag.”

His brother flinched back as if he’d been hit. A deep shame filled his gray eyes as he started to back away. But Linc squeezed his hand, refusing him escape. Michael got the message and settled back down at the edge of the bed (wait, he was in a bed?)

“I-I don’t know what you’re—”

“Cut the crap, Michael. I know everything. He’s been taking advantage of you for over a week now. Right under my nose. That’s why you’ve been so off lately. What you’ve been so afraid to tell me.”

Michael’s eyes were on the floor.

“I know…I know that before him you were never…with a man—”

“Linc—”

“And I just want you to know that regardless I love you. I always will.”

Talking about emotions like this had never been his thing but with everything he and Michael had been through there was no room for skirting them. He loved his brother and wanted him to know it.  
Michael bit his lip, presumably to keep it still as new tears rolled down his cheeks. He wouldn’t look up at him, but Lincoln was satisfied that he hadn’t moved away.

“I’m so sorry, Linc.”

“Hey, come here.”

Michael didn’t budge so he pulled him down to him. His wound protested but Lincoln ignored the pain as his brother’s head landed gently on his chest. He hugged him close, feeling the wetness of his tears coating his bare skin.

“You got nothing to be sorry about, understand?”

Michael answered with a sob. He held his brother, again like when he was just a boy, so many years ago. He wanted to say more, to ask Michael how Bagwell had gotten a hold of him in the first place (blackmail? Had he threatened Lincoln’s life?) but he knew Michael wasn’t ready. He’d made that mistake before, the day Michael had punched him. He didn’t want to do it again. So he lied there and let his brother cry against him until he was finally silenced by the peace of slumber.

* * *

 

**Two months later…**

  
“Linc? You thirsty?”

Michael watched his big brother through the open patio door, noting the easy way he lied back in the beach chair in their backyard. Because of the weather, he wore no shirt. It was pretty damn hot. Then again it was always hot in Panama.

“Yea, bring me a beer.”

They’d finished dinner earlier, Michael had cooked. Sucre and Maricruz had come by and enjoyed the get-together. They’d taken the opportunity to announce that she was expecting. He couldn’t be any happier for the couple. Upstairs his nephew was sleeping hard, just like his dad used to. It would take a monsoon to wake him.

“Beer?” Michael thought aloud, “No, he’s had enough. He gets water.”

When he arrived with two glasses, Lincoln frowned at him.

“That ain’t what I asked for, Mike.”

He sat down on the beach chair beside his brother’s.

“It’s better for you, shush.”

Linc took it begrudgingly.

“L.J’s knocked out. I just checked on him,” Michael noted.

His brother nodded before downing half the glass.

“Good. He’s been sleeping better lately, huh?”

When he’d first arrived, L.J. had been on prison-mode, keeping one eye nervously open. But he hadn’t been completely hardened yet. After a few weeks, spent with his dad sitting by the bed at night he’d seemed to adjust.

“He’ll be fine, Linc. He’s a Burrows.”

Michael sipped his own water. They stared out at the ocean.

“I want to thank you, Mike,” Lincoln suddenly blurted.

“For getting my son back to me. I don’t think I could survive if anything happened to either of you.”

He finished his water. Michael faced him.

“Same goes for me, Linc.”

They shared the moment before Lincoln stood.

“I could definitely use a beer.”

He started for the house when he suddenly stumbled.

“Linc?”

Michael was there to catch him.

“Hey, I warned you about staying hydrated out here.”

He helped his big brother back to his seat.

“Here, lie down. You probably have a touch of heatstroke.”

Lincoln blinked, his green eyes starting to dilate.

“I don’t have…shit…Mike?”

“Shh, shh. Just lie back. Relax.”

He caressed Lincoln’s stubbly cheek, anticipation building inside. It had been a while since they’d had quality time, what with L.J.’s sleep disturbances. But he’d taken care of that matter. There would be no interruptions tonight.

“I…beer…” Lincoln tried to say but soon he was lost, vacant.

Michael climbed onto his lap.

It had been months since he’d been fucked, months since his ass had taken the pounding it so desperately craved. For a while Sucre had obliged—he’d even let Michael fuck him— but once he’d reconnected with Maricruz that had been the end of it. Michael had been dying ever since.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to be fucked. And he needed it from one man.  
Lincoln groaned as Michael’s hand cupped him inside his shorts, the only sound his compromised state would allow. Michael reveled in the noise, missing this side of his brother for far too long.  
He knew he shouldn’t do this. After the debacle with T-bag but goddammit Teddy had opened up a need inside that had to be filled. His ass had to be filled.

Because lube would make too much of a mess he’d have to go for saliva. As he grinded against Linc, he began sucking his own fingers. He couldn’t wait to be sucking Linc’s cock. Beneath him, he could feel his brother hardening. Mmmm to feel that hardness inside him... He separated long enough to remove the both of their pants, drawers included. His need was crushing his patience.

At the sight of Lincoln’s bare naked erection Michael breathed audibly. Oh how he missed seeing that!

He dropped to his knees instantly and took the throbbing meat into his mouth. He and Linc groaned simultaneously. As he sucked his brother, Michael moved his own fingers behind him to prepare himself. Still wet with spit he slid one into his hungry hole. Once safe, he administered the other. He stroked himself, scissoring and stretching as Teddy had taught him. Even Sucre had shown him some things. His own cock jumped at the memories. Both had been damn good lovers. Teddy dominating, Sucre attentive, but neither could compare to the man to whom he truly wanted to make love. The man lying before him, mouth dropped open as Mike bathed his fat cock in his oral secretions. Nobody compared to Lincoln.

When he could take the anticipation no more Michael straddled his brother, using a hand to lift Linc’s rock solid cock toward his opening. Then he lowered himself, slowly once he felt the hardness at his entrance. Lincoln was thicker than his last two lovers which excited him greatly. He yearned for the wider stretch. Once the red-knobbed head broke in, he moaned out loud. Lincoln felt it too and groaned. He continued to ease himself down when Linc abruptly jerked his hips up with a grunt. Startled, Michael fell onto him, burying Linc all the way into his asshole. He yelped.

“Mmm!”

Lincoln’s eyes were still dazed but his breathing had tripled in its speed. Michael stared down at him for a moment, feeling his hardness stretch him. Then he began to ride.  
Lincoln couldn’t keep quiet. If not for the “sleep enhancers” his nephew had taken earlier, Michael would’ve feared he’d wake. Not that he had any room to talk. He wasn’t exactly silent himself.

“Linc...Fuuck!”

His brother felt amazing inside him, dizzying him with his cock as he bounced up and down. He palmed Linc’s pecs, digging into the hard muscle that had protected him for so many years. He might be going to Hell but God was this Heaven! Riding Lincoln, fucking Lincoln, driving Lincoln to groan and heave beneath him. He could tell when his brother was close and had to force himself to slow down. Next time he’d pull a trick out of T-bag’s playbook and blow him before he fucked him, but tonight he’d been too eager.

Linc was still groaning, murmuring noises that made no sense. He was completely rapt, overtaken, bound inside his baby brother’s tight ass. Michael couldn’t take his eyes off him the entire time. But it was getting harder for Mike to control himself as well. To have his ultimate prize, for Linc to feel every bit as mind-blowing as he’d expected him to feel, it was getting to him. He wanted to make it last but his body was too near to climax.

“Linc,” he cried, “God Linc!”

His hips sped up and suddenly Lincoln was growling, cumming hard inside him. Michael cursed as his cock exploded, shooting his load all over his brother’s chest and face. Linc was blissfully unaware, still entrenched in his own orgasm. His green eyes rolled up in his head, the force of it shaking his whole body. Michael locked onto him relishing his expression of boundless ecstasy along with his own orgasm. Once complete he collapsed onto his brother, kissing his chest, neck, throat and chin up to his open lips. Lincoln was panting to catch his breath, sweat covering his delicious frame.

“I love you so much, Linc,” Michael managed between kisses.

His brother lied there, oblivious to the declaration. Eventually he would have to clean Linc up, his cum had made quite the blanket but for now he just lied against him, enjoying his body so close. Mike continued to kiss him and after a while he could feel himself revving up for another round. With a little bit of nipple play Lincoln’s cock swelled right back up as well. The second go was even more intense. Michael came first, a tear of sheer joy trailing down his cheek as he screamed his brother’s name. He continued to ride Linc until the big man reached the same conclusion.

He’d clean him up before morning, before L.J. or Linc would wake but for now he wanted to marinate in the majesty of their first time.

It was everything he’d hoped it would be. His brother did not disappoint. Michael couldn’t wait until the next encounter. Yes there would most definitely be a next encounter.

As he cleaned his semen from his brother’s body, his mind drifted back to T-bag’s words concerning his nights with Lincoln. On his use of the “R” word. If he hadn’t been raping him before then he certainly was now. How else could one define sitting on his brother’s dick without his knowledge or consent? And unlike the blow jobs before, his motive hadn’t been to help Lincoln. No, he’d done this for himself. All for his own nasty need. He’d officially crossed a line here.

But looking down at his now sleeping brother he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He loved Linc, there could never be anything wrong about love.

A part of his mind shuttered at his lack of remorse, reminded him that he was behaving more and more like his once despised former lover. What separated him from Bagwell now?

 _What I do, I do out of love_ , Michael reminded himself.

_I love Lincoln._

He nestled closer to his brother, once again inhaling his sweat-filled scent. Someday he would have to stop this, he knew, but it wouldn’t be anytime soon. For now he’d remain his brother’s lover, his brother’s consort. His brother’s comfort.

 


End file.
